Just life
by Kehlen
Summary: After the final battle Harry has to accomplish another task, almost as gruesome as the one he has just done. Or has has he? Post HBP, AU DH.
1. Prologue: Abduction

**Disclaimer: **Nothing you recognize is mine.

Some ideas might have been nicked from different fics.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

Dark. After the blazing blue sky over grassy field the sudden darkness felt like a soft handkerchief over his tired eyes. Ever so slowly his eyesight adjusted to the semi-darkness of an almost empty room with the only shuttered window. May be due to the semi-darkness but most likely the brown wooden walls and the floor of the same material illuminated but by the soft light gently passing through the window the room felt almost like the comfortable little candlelit cabinet in his favorite Italian restaurant in the Muggle London.

Just as slowly his eyes drifted to the black dragon-hide battle robes then the impassionate face of his once most-hated student, later the only Ally on the side of Light. "Ally". He almost laughed at the word unbiddenly coming to the forefront if his mind. Some secrets were meant to die with their Keepers.

Bemused, he took another minute to access the surroundings of what looked like one of the Order safe houses.

* * *

_ten minutes earlier_

Standing by the Dark Lord's side he was dueling with Kingsley Shacklebolt, his Death Eater mask long since torn from his face by a stray curse, his battle robes flaring behind him like the wings of a giant bat his students so compared him with, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a column of light envelope his one time Master. Transfixed, he couldn't tear his eyes from the ghostly figures floating, as if in slow motion, in and out of the light globe, recognizing many of Voldemort's all times victims circling the wizard, going round and round him in ever tightening circle, shining so brightly he could hardly bear the light… And then in a flash they were gone, and with them the now mortal body of the most feared wizard of the century.

The time sped to its normal pace and he became aware of a searing pain in his left forearm and of a Blasting Curse connecting to his side, tearing through the dragon hide, slicing the flash of his right underarm with its backlash.

Staggering on his feet, he rose his wand in mock-salute, intending to drop it in surrender when another figure Apparated between him and the Auror, gripped him vice-like by his wand-arm and Apparated them away. The last thing he saw was the Auror "24 hours later" sign made by this new assailant to the Order member.

Disoriented, he felt thin snake-like ropes securely tie him to a high-backed chair in the sudden darkness of this room, wherever it was..

* * *

_back to the present_

"Give me one reason, Snape." Rasped the voice of the other wizard.

His gaze snapped up and could no more leave the parchment-white face and flaring green eyes boring into his, trying to see the very bottom of his soul. He absentmindedly noticed the streak of blood from the freshly-opened lightning-bolt scar and a muck-covered eleven-inch holly leveled at his heart.

"One reason not to send you join your dear _master,_" the following words were practically spat with so much venom, they would send a fifth-year Gryffindor-Slytherin potions class cowering behind their cauldrons, "on his _next great adventure_."

The next thing he knew was a foreign presence effortlessly slipping through his Occlumency shields that he arrogantly thought impenetrable after all these years of confronting Voldemort and sometimes Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

Harry leveled his wand at Snape's heart, simultaneously casting a silent wandless Legilemens with his left hand. The effectiveness of this particular sequence of movements never ceased to darkly amuse him. Make the suspect fear for his life and he almost always dropped his shields low for a split second; time enough for a strong Legilemens to slip through.

He still remembered the astonishment of the other two Confessors after the first several almost effortless successes.

Not today though. His mind still slightly woozy after the tremendous effort of calling up almost every echo of the people killed by the read-eyed bastard and reeling with the unreality of finally having got rid of the threat that had been hanging over the heads of the people he loved and his own for almost all his conscious years, he was bracing himself for a task, to him, almost as gruesome as the one he had just accomplished.

Seeing Snape at Voldemort's side, openly fighting Shack after all the years Harry hardly ever knew of his activities other than on the not rare occasions when a new or sometimes older re-created battle potion or poison made an appearance (the very thought of the damage they could have wrought had it not been for the help of a mysterious "Toby" made him shudder every time he thought of his former teacher) nearly exerted the first-ever "Avada Kedavra" from Harry's lips.

Forcing his anger behind the Occlumency shields and once more remembering Dumbledore's will, he Apparated himself and the bastard to this safe-house only Ron and Hermione knew of, fully intending to extract revenge on the man tearing apart his mind before throwing the traitor back to the Ministry for Dementor's Kiss.

* * *

The ease with which he passed Snape's shields would have surprised the experienced Confessor had he not already been deathly tired an full of righteous, in his eyes, anger.

The first few moments of in the another's mind had always been the most disorienting in Harry's past experiences. The thick, unnaturally coloured tropical forest of Bellatrix Lestrange's mind, the devastated, without a single rock in sight moor of Pettigrew's, the "atomic bombing site", as he later described it of some other Death Eater's, the vain and empty mansion of Draco Malfoy's and even the quicksand and drowning goo he observed during his visions in Voldemort's didn't prepare him for the immediate recognition he felt of the barren land where he now stood.

Heartbeat speeding up, he remembered a winter day he could spare to a sudden cold in Hermione's house, the warm comforter in the guest bedroom, the steaming hot mug of tea with honey and the fantasy book she lent him.

Now observing the low fence, the sloping grey grounds, the sunless and moonless skies as if forever frozen a moment before nightfall, the silent village down the road with not a light in it's many windows, he heard it again, pounding in his ears, the phrase that caught his attention. "Here, they drink dust", Ged the wizard told his young friend once, in the after-world of Earth Sea.

"Here, they drink dust." Murmured Harry.


	2. Here, They Drink Dust, Part One

**Disclaimer:** nothing you recognize is mine.

Also, if you haven't read my profile, I'm not a native speaker and it is shining through here :-).

* * *

**Harry's POV**

Sighing, Harry trudged down the rocky road, already knowing that however long he had to travel in this mind, he would have to do it on foot.

He reached the first house of the village and with disgust brushed his fingertips across the dusty window. The black and shiny dust felt greasy on his fingers.

"At least I don't have to search for secret rooms and follow after bity bugs." Distractedly said the young wizard.

Looking through the tiny opening he created, he saw a dungeon potions lab where Snape was simultaneously brewing several potions, an expression of deepest disgust contorting his face. Harry paused, filing away the expression he knew only too well from his own Potions class as directed at him, as uncharacteristic for the man's lone brewing.

Approaching another window Harry saw what definitely looked like a Death Eater meeting, yet another – Snape silently making his way in the shadows. On and on he went, brushing more and more dust peering into the houses, approaching at last one window that looked almost bloodied, it was covered in soft volcanic toof. Trailing his fingers again across the glass, Harry suddenly felt something sharp slice his skin. Surprised, he looked closer at the dust, and saw sharp shards implanted in it. Intrigued, he automatically healed the little cut and bent closer to the window.

And froze at the sight of a familiar Manor House. He remembered visiting one that looked quite alike shortly after a Death Eater raid on a muggleborn and what they would call "blood traitor" household. Seeing Death Eaters Apparating to the property, the Confessor pushed open the door and entered the scene, being immediately pulled to a hooded and masked figure he presumed to be Snape. The figure moved with almost a feline grace, completely melting into the shadows. Battle instincts kicking in, Harry automatically started moving swiftly and efficiently, economizing every motion, even knowing nobody could see nor hear him in this memory.

Mounting to the second floor they came across a Death Eater who tried to penetrate a room that undoubtedly was a nursery, but was held off by a frantic house elf shielding a child of about two years of age with curly brown hair and amazing blue eyes. Recognizing the child, Harry took off at a run, dashing through the memory-thin forms of the defender and the attackers and watched with growing horror as Snape raised his wand and matter-of-factly killed the little creature.

Laughing the manic laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange, Snape's partner in crime approached the cowering toddler and said in a thickeningly sweet voice, "The little pussy boy is a-feared of big bad Death Eaters, in't he, Se-everus? Uncle Sevvy will do the honors of killing the filthy brat of the blood-traitor and his little mudblood bitch, won't you, dear?"

Wide-eyed even after all the horrors he had beheld in his Voldemort-induced visions and on the sites of Death Eater raids, Harry watched with growing dread as the boy crawled to the taller man and clutched at his leg, looking beseechingly at the cold silver mask, then closing his eyes in terror.

Then, all of a sudden, as was sometimes the case in the past when the interrogated willingly supplied his memories, Harry was washed over and nearly drowned by the older man's barely suppressed whirlpool of emotions. Swaying on his feet, Harry was inundated by overwhelming guilt, despair and abject terror, then like a bolt of lightning in the darkness, he saw a spell forming in the older man's mind's eye. A spell he never knew but with the results of which he was familiar enough being the only one able to lift them on seven occasions in the six years that passed since the fall of Dumbledore.

Dumbfounded, he watched Snape hitting the child seemingly full-force on the temple with his left hand while surreptitiously casting the obscure spell with his wand, hidden from Bellatrix in the folds of the rich material of his Death Eater robes.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly the now lifeless body of the unfortunate child slid to the floor, loosing its grip on Snape's trouser hose.

"Muggle-style?" Crowed Bellatrix. "Very befitting, my little halfblood. However, our Lord will be most interested in this little feat of yours."

"Dear cousin," Severus answered silkily, his almost non-existent hope wrenching at Harry's heart, "I'm most certain Master will see it as a fitting way for the scum to join his mudblood mother."

With that, the couple left the room where Harry stayed rooted to the floor.

How long he stayed there, in the place where time meant so little, Harry didn't know. His walls of resentment towards Snape thinned but held.

He remembered Apparating to this Manor, his attention drawn by the Dark Mark silently floating above the grove near Godric Hollow he was visiting for the first time since the night his parents died.

For the first time in his life he witnessed the results of what the arriving Aurors told him to be a _regular _Death Eater 'cleaning'. Unable to stop himself, he silently walked down the hall, mourning the young couple, recognizing the husband as one of the friends of Cedric Diggory when something made him go to the second floor.

"Wouldn't go there if I were you, Harry." A white-haired Tonks warned him at the door of the nursery. "A house elf tried to protect the little one…" She broke off.

Feeling the strange pull again, Harry ignored the young Auror. Kneeling at the side of the child who seemed to be peacefully asleep he made to pick him up and bring downstairs to his parents but froze as soon as his hand brushed the kid's cool cheek. He felt a wave of magic wash over him, testing, questioning his presence, dissipating with a soft silver glow.

He heard Tonks shout something to the other Aurors, but his attention was trained to the still form on the floor that began to slowly stir as if trying to surface from under the water… Two huge blue eyes opened, drowning Harry in their depths and soon the young man had a lapful of a trembling child.

* * *

"No," he firmly told himself getting out of the house, "Snape only did it for some perverse reason of his own." Harry refused to listen to a tiny voice sarcastically murmuring in his ear, _'The perverse reason being he enjoyed Voldemort's Crucios. You didn't fell for one second for what the bastard told Bellatrix, did you?'_

Silently approaching the last house of the village Harry yet again bent over the grimy window, once more seeing Snape in the now familiar potions lab. This time the long table was full of scrolls of ragged-looking parchment. Snape was tearing away a two-foot long hem of one of the scrolls, spelling the new edge to look like the time-worn other three, simultaneously banishing the torn part away with a complicated wave of his wand the observer recognized as a higher level Evanesco, making it impossible for the banished object to be summoned back.

Puzzling once more over the man's uncharacteristic disrespect of the seemingly ancient and precious material, Harry barely suppressed a snort imagining the scandalized look a younger Hermione would have accepted had she been able to witness this scene.

Amusement fleeing him as he once more took to the road on the almost alien-looking grounds, the young Confessor treaded further in search of what he knew to be more guarded memories.

Yet another lightless village loomed a certain distance away as Harry tried to classify a peculiar sensation in his feet. Usually when interrogating a strong enough Occlumens they put up a fight one way or the other after the initial surprise of finding a foreign presence in their mind wore off. The struggle began after the Confessor viewed the first series of memories. On rare occasions the suspects helped the interrogating presence find the memories it needed, thus shortening the distances separating different sites of their mind land.

Harry however, found himself at once struggling with each step he took and nearing the village at a speed he didn't deem possible_. 'How can he want me to see his memories.'_ Flashed trough his brain, Snape's duel with Shack still too fresh in his mind.

Entering the new village, the wizard moved to the first window automatically brushing a slight opening in the now light-blue dust. The differently coloured grime seemed to be the only thing that varied from building to building.

Stooping, he observed his ex-teacher seated at the same table, an empty scroll of parchment in front of him. The intense look in those black eyes made Harry shiver. Pushing open the door he crept to the sitting man and looked over his shoulder. The older wizard waved his wand, and the parchment blossomed with all too familiar scrawl. Now leaning at the table, Harry observed in awe how they appeared on the paper, the instructions to the complicated antidote for one of the most gruesome potions Snape had concocted in the recent years. And at the bottom, the lone word, 'Toby'.

Holding his head, hardly seeing anything around him, Harry slipped to the stone floor of the dungeon. Filing ruthlessly through his own memories the young Confessor had to admit to himself that all through these difficult years a small and easily shunned part of his mind knew the identity of their seemingly out of nowhere appeared ally.

His vast knowledge of potions (in retrospect, Harry saw how willingly he blinded himself to the fact the no apprentice could as continuously "guess" how to counter the effect of various less-then-widely known potions); his knife-sharp tongue the younger man so enjoyed (at this particular realization the little voice, that at times sounded much like Snape, snorted in his head, _'Wonderful, Potter, all it takes to divert your attention is using the style you so abhorred as a student towards the others.'_) even his ability to transfer messages to the highly impenetrable locations on the nick of time (_'If ever I lay my hands on this bloody bird, I will pluck its feathers one at a time for never showing itself and nearly giving us heart attacks the first few times Toby's missiles appeared seemingly out of nowhere.'_), it all came crashing back to the boy-who-was-burdened-beyond-his-age during his epiphany.

Blinded by his anger and guilt Harry had willingly dismissed every occasion to analyze the memories of that fateful night at the Astronomy Tower.

Now, however, was not the time to wallow in regrets nor to relive some of the most painful memories of his life. Harry got to his feet, remembering the thick yellow light of the Blasting Curse Kingsley had hit the git with moments before he side-along Apparated him to this shack.

Cold-hearted bastard his old Potions Master could be all he liked, as well as responsible for many a horror with his over-enthusiastic research of the Dark Arts and potions, yet the young Gryffindor's sense of honour could no more bear the thought of condemning the man whose efforts had been more than instrumental in the course of the war to a fate worse than death. "Would be hypocritical of you, too, after the horrors the Death Eaters told about the Confessing", happily supplied the little voice.

"Going somewhere else, _Mister_ Potter?" Sneered an all-too-familiar voice behind him. Whipping his head, his gaze once again met the unreadable obsidian-black eyes of his once most-hated teacher and now the most important Ally in the enemy camp.


	3. Here, They Drink Dust, Part Two

**Disclaimer**: nothing you recognize is mine.

See profile to know more about the story's future development.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

Hardly able to believe the brat's audacity he felt a foreign presence in his mind, pulling him inside his own head, demanding his appearance, reducing him to a mere stream of consciousness beside his former student.

Remembering the stories told by other Death Eaters, he understood with a growing sense of dread that he had once again underestimated Potter. So this was one of the Confessors that instilled unease and sometimes pure fear in the most devoted servants of the Dark Lord?

Then again, being forced to relive one's worst, or even simply painful memories simultaneously observing the reaction of an intruder, an enemy to the facts and circumstances one so often denied even to his own self, desperately trying to hide, estrange, sugarcoat them didn't count as the most welcome of experiences.

He sobered as flashbacks of many memories he didn't allow himself to acknowledge existed flew through his mind. Grinding his teeth, an act that didn't bring any satisfaction in his naught form, he resolved himself to this new insult, swearing to fight the invasion with all he could muster.

Glancing around himself, he recognized the after-life landscape of one of his few favorite Muggle novels.

Startled, he saw immediate recognition in Potter's eyes as the boy took in their surroundings. "Here, they drink dust." He heard him mutter.

How many times in the past did he himself repeat the same words, sneezing at the dust-covered manuscripts the Dark Lord pressed him to research, brewing the potions the very thought of whose effects made his gut twist, as he time and again appreciated the all-purpose Anti-Nausea Draught he was able to re-discover, administering them on animals and sometimes Mudboods and Muggles, waiting on the Halfblood that deemed himself the Pureblood messiah?

Floating at Potter's side as the young wizard approached the first memory village he came out of his reverie to realize that the boy had merely quoted the book.

Seeing the other brush his fingers across the greasy dust of the first window looking almost like one of his newest 'developments' made him flinch despite himself before he remembered that precious few things could harm the-boy-who-lived-to-humiliate-him in his mind's land.

Peering through the tiny opening he saw himself brewing some abominations and smirked at the disbelieving look at his companion's face. _'Yes Potter. Not every brewing is pleasant even to a Potions Master such as myself.'_

After viewing a couple of rather painless memories they moved to the house with the bloody-looking window. Contemplating what memory could have produced such a colour association in his subconscious he heard Potter's sharp intake of breath and looked up in time to see him heal the tiny cut on his middle finger.

Already dreading the memory he followed after Potter inside the building and froze, his heart beating wildly against his non-existing ribcage. This memory sometimes rivaled the night Malfoy brought Death Eaters to Hogwarts in his nightmares.

That night he was ordered to join a 'cleaning' and force once of _the_ potions down one of his ex-students', a young Mud… Muggleborn's, he corrected himself with sad relief, throat. The girl was unfortunate enough to marry another of his former students whose family Manor was only an eyeshot away from Potter parents' house.

When a ward was tripped, alerting Voldemort to Potter's presence at the site of his parents' murder, several senior Death Eaters were sent to "clean up" the Manor "quickly and efficiently" sending the Dark Mark into the sky which was bound to attract the brat's attention.

"Accidentally" tripping over a cauldron of an inflammable salve in his lab, was able to arrive when the girl was already murdered, being instead sent to check up the second floor, where he found Bellatrix fighting a house elf at the door of the nursery. Cornered, he killed the creature, only to be asked to do the "honours" of murdering a two-ear-old child by the insane bitch.

For what seemed like an eternity and should have lasted no longer than several seconds, he stood frozen in the doorway wishing for the floor to swallow him and the child, who in the meanwhile crawled to him and attached himself to his leg, looking up at him with huge tear-filled blue eyes. Drowning in the anguished depths he remembered a curse he stumbled over in his research of the Dark Potions.

* * *

Originally created in the Middle Ages, the Two Souls Curse was used by a couple of powerful Light wizards to rescue squib children from Pureblood families intent on cleansing their lines of those _"abominations"_. Cast correctly, the curse put a child under three years of age in a death-like state that only the caster or his friend were able to break him from. Thus one of the duo became Executioner, the other a mortician. Little did the parents know that the kids were then adopted by childless Muggle couples, later producing many "Muggleborn" wizards.

* * *

Ignoring the horrible feeling of foreboding (the spell was called Curse for the simple reason of it's being effective in less than half castings, the other half resulting in the death of the subject) he fulfilled the requirement of the otherwise fatal physical contact with the child, hiding his wand from Bellatrix in the folds of his robes.

The small body dropping to the floor he exchanged scathing comments with the excuse of a woman hovering over the scene of the crime and left without a backwards glance to be punished for loosing the opportunity for exploring _the_ potion and quite possibly the dirty Muggle method of murder that was bound to at the same time amuse and anger their Master.

* * *

His lip curling despite the gravity of the memory he observed Potter shift to the battle mode following after his past self. Looking closely at the boy's expression, he saw recognition at the sight of the child's face. The Confessor sauntered into the room and tried to position himself between the Death Eaters and their victim.

And this made Snape long for something he never dared hope for after the Avada Kedavra on the Astronomy Tower. For someone to let in on his burden. The same instant the wish formulated on the edges of his consciousness he saw Potter's eyes widen and somehow knew the boy was able to share the heaviest of his emotions.

Sighing, he didn't notice his form shimmer slightly in the not-night air as they left the house.

One stop at the window later they were off to a further hidden layer of memories, Snape at the same time wishing with all his might to eject Potter out of his mind and, hardly braving the thought, to share some of the other memories the way he had done a few minutes ago.

As they entered the first house of this new village he mentally groaned_. 'So much for the secrets meant to die with their Keepers.'_ He thought bitterly observing his other self magic a letter to the Order and sign it with his so carefully as it seemed back then chosen alias.

Glancing about the room he saw the boy, no, young man that brought him here slid to the floor and clutch his head as if in pain. _"Serves the brat right."_ Flashed through he mind before he couldn't help feeling the slightest bit concerned hearing Potter's frustrated groan.

A few moments later he saw his… he couldn't find a word for the wizard at the moment… raise determinedly to his feet. That was when he suddenly realized he was solid once more. Crossing his arms across his chest and schooling his face in his most menacing scowl, he sneered, "Going somewhere else, _Mister_ Potter?"


	4. Back to reality

**Disclaim****er:** nothing you recognize is mine.  
And I'm quite aware that my grammar and punctuation are _unfortunately_ far from stellar.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

The presence of the now-solid form of Snape alleviating quite a few of Harry's further concerns he braced himself and slowly answered, "Actually, no, _sir_, I was intending to leave." And couldn't help adding, "Unless there are other memories you wish me to view?" Something, was it surprise? flickered in Snape's eyes for the briefest moment before he drawled, "I gather you enjoyed yourself then."

Surprised with the ghost of a joke, Harry approached the older man and extended his arm to him. Not moving a finger Snape raised an eyebrow.

"The fastest way for you regain consciousness is when I help you back. Otherwise you will have to travel through every remaining level of memories occasionally reliving some as I have just done."

When no response followed Harry reluctantly added, "Some get trapped in their… memories. And it takes two or three Confessors to find you. Then you will have no choice but to walk the rest of the way with all of us."

Harry winced as he remembered helping Walden McNair drag himself from two particularly vicious memories the ex-executioner was stuck in. In the first, his sixteen-year-old self was chased (and slightly mauled) by two almost-grown werewolves; in the second, the then slightly older teen was killing six cubs of different ages, refusing the thought of them as human beings and struggling (and finally failing) to contain his nausea.

Harry snapped out of his memory seeing Snape's eyes slightly widen as the man reluctantly put out his arm and laid his hand on Harry's sleeve. Shaking his head, he covered it with the palm of his other hand and before his Professor had time to protest they were flying out of the house, back up the road and over the lowly hedge.

'_Phew, that took more out of me than I expected.'_ Thought Harry regaining consciousness. Looking around he found himself sitting at Snape's feet leaning heavily against the other man's legs.

Harry slowly got up stretching his over-worked muscles that were loudly protesting the strain they were put under during the battle topped by his last hours' awkward position. Looking around he noticed the almost-darkness of the room illuminated only by the soft glow coming from the walls. Mentally thanking Hermione for her Luminescent Charm he released Snape's bounds with a soft "Relashio" and bent over the older wizard's still unmoving form to assess the damage wrought by Shacklebolt's Blasting Curse.

Taking in the shredded battle robes of high quality dragon hide and a small pool of drying blood under the chair he chased to the supply cabinet hidden in the wall niche near the only window. Giving a quick peek from between the shutters (must be near midnight judging by the star patterns) he quickly gathered several healing potions and salves. After the briefest of hesitations he also added the Skin Lotion to his selection and almost ran back to Snape.

Harry carefully eased the battle robes off the man's shoulders and levitated him onto the heather-soft floor in the corner of the room propping his head by a hastily conjured pillow.

Here all three Confessors used to sleep together after especially difficult interrogations of the last year. Too tired to bring or conjure proper bedding and in desperate need of friendly reassurance they would pop into the house, huddle together for several hours of healing slumber and leave at dawn not sparing another thought to the furnishings.

Praying for Snape not to come to his senses for another several minutes and let him apply the potions without the inevitable squabble Harry gently tugged at the remnants of the injured man's coat and shirt and nearly jumped out of his skin when his Professor began to speak.

"What do you think you're doing Potter?"

Sighing, Harry indicated the small array of potions on the floor beside them. "Patching you up, sir. That was quite a nasty Blasting Curse that hit you." Ignoring the first-class death-glare Harry once again reached for the clothes.

"Thank you, Potter. The Dementor will quite appreciate your hard work doing his. When was it you intended to hand me back to the Ministry, tomorrow morning?"

Panicked, Harry looked down at the man contemplating how in the seven rounds of hell he could have read his intentions under the hard-studied Confessor mask.

"No need to be shocked, _**Confessor**_. Is it not what every Order member wishes to befall Severus Snape, Death Eater, Voldemort's spy at Hogwarts and in the Order of the Phoenix, murderer of the Leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore?" His voice seemed to be freezing the air between them, solidifying it into ice and creaking like the said substance did in the days of severe frost.

Harry however noticed the almost non-existence lowering of Snape's tone when the man said the old Headmaster's name.

His old anger flared at the slur to his unasked-for Confessor status and Harry started whispering in a voice that made him heard even during the battles. Ironically, this inflection was characteristic of Confessors.

"What _**I**_, Harry James Potter, First Confessor, wish, is that one Severus _Tobi_as Snape", he stressed the first two syllables of Severus' middle name, "be acquitted of alleged crimes as it is proven by Confession and evidence him being the Order's spy and Ally in the enemy camp by alias Toby, and acting ultimately for the side of Light." Harry took a deep breath, calming himself, and added in a less formal, but still chilling tone of voice, "And _**I**_ have means to gain my wishes".

In the ringing silence that followed Harry once again tried to help the older man disrobe. Still Snape seemed reluctant to afford his ex-student help him tend him. If even his gaze for the first time in memory didn't hold it's characteristic loathing or the carefully studied non-expression of the mind land, only defiance.

"Fine, suit yourself." Harry finally snapped. "I will go to the kitchen and see what could be done about some late diner".

After a quarter of an hour of fruitless search for provisions he could only find several almost black bananas, some tea and two tins of canned meat. Putting a kettle and a pan on the stove Harry returned to the main room.

Snape in the meanwhile managed to get rid of his suit and shirt and lay utterly exhausted with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Ignoring the further unsaid protests Harry quickly muttered the cleaning spell Poppy had told them all for treating injuries of unknown severity (a "Scorgify" could bring more damage than not on some types of wounds) and gasped at the sight of a huge black-blue swollen bruise on the right side of Snape's ribcage. To the contrary the deep cuts on his underarm had closed during their earlier activities and would quickly heal after the proper salve was applied.

Waving his wand over the bruise Harry mentioned the six broken ribs and wondered how they had not punctured Snape's lung on the field and during his none-too-gentle Apparition.

"You have six broken ribs, sir." He finally told the glowering man in front of him. "I have some Skele-Gro here, and this salve should help heal your right arm."

The sight of Snape's grimace as the man drunk the disgusting sludge Harry remembered only too well from his second year at Hogwarts couldn't help but plaster a satisfied smirk on the younger man's face.

Tightly bandaging the now healing ribs and applying the salve Harry took his leave to the kitchen, where he heard the whistle of the kettle. Leaving the bananas for breakfast he quickly put the kettle and the pan on a tray and was about to head back to the room when suddenly he felt a strange irritation on his left forearm that quickly began to burn as if he had spilled boiling water all over it. He rolled up his sleeve but could see nothing of the ordinary and the strange sensation ceased as quickly as it started. (1)

Once more reminded of the stiffness of his muscles he flexed his arms, took the tray and went back to join Snape. At the doorway he got a glimpse of the man gazing anxiously at his own forearm. As soon as he saw Harry step into the room, he covered himself with the comforter Harry had conjured after Snape removed his clothes.

Berating his forgetfulness Harry carefully lowered the tray on the floor and approached Snape who was once again attempting to glower.

"Sir, would you please let me see your Dark Mark?"

"Whatever for, Potter?" Cautiously asked Snape.

"I need to know whether it is still afflicting you now that Tom is gone for good. Hermione…" Harry pointedly ignored the gnashing of Snape's teeth at the mention of his best friend's name. "Hermione feared all Death Eater would die with the death of their Master. I'm relieved to see she was mistaken."

"She may be not as mistaken as you think." Muttered Snape, uncovering the inflamed skin around the inky black angry Dark Mark on his left forearm.

Bending closer Harry could smell the light but unmistakable smell he hoped never to hear again now that the war was over. The smell that always hung like a heavy fog over the battlefields. Horrified, Harry inhaled the stench of blood and rotting flesh.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

For several seconds the young man simply stared at the mark as it swiveled on the arm burrowing further into the flesh then started hissing in Parceltongue.

Later Snape could never tell exactly what happened. But he always remembered the dark and almost solid head of a cobra that rose like thick mist from his arm and started answering to Potter, flicking it's forked tongue. He could have sworn it kept shooting him quick glances that sent shivers down his spine.

And then it was gone, dissipated in the darkened air of the room, and Potter dropped in his arms, unconscious. Dazedly glancing at his forearm he saw it unblemished for the first time in almost three decades. Only the quickly fading irritation marked the place where his former master's brand was once burned.

Snapping out of the daze he quickly checked Potter's pulse. To his intense relief the younger wizard seemed unharmed; he had simply passed out from magical as well as physical exhaustion. Gently lowering the boy to the floor he soaked his handkerchief in the quickly cooling water of the kettle and softly washed the dirt and blood off his face, removing the glasses. Snape quickly sorted through the potions and finding the muscle-relaxant, poured it down Potter's throat.

'_I hadn't been feeding potions to unwilling and unconscious victims for absolute nothing then.'_ He thought bitterly.

Quickly eating half the meat he covered himself and Potter with their only comforter. (Potter's wand refused to as much as send sparks for him and not being able to find his own on the boy or anywhere in the vicinity his ribs felt too sore to venture blundering around the house in the semi-darkness.) Laying as far from his unwanted companion as the width of the quilt would allow he was fast asleep within seconds.

* * *

**A/n**

(1) that is my personal experience that when you care deeply about someone, you sometime can share his feelings, specially hurt, even when not in the same room.

I have added some acknowledgments to my profile.


	5. Morning before the storm

**Diclaimer**: nothing you recognize is mine.  
I don't know how to correctly put commas.

* * *

_to my grandmother, who was a very clever woman  
notwithstanding her character_

**Severus's POV**

The following morning Snape woke to soft rays of light gently pouring through the shutters like the day before. He had a familiar faltering feeling in the pit of his stomach, neither dread nor excitement, just that his life was about to change. The same feeling he had on the first of September, his first year of Hogwarts.

Exceptionally fresh and alert for the first time in months he looked down at a very familiar head of rumpled hair resting against his still somewhat sore chest. Carefully edging away from his unexpected sleeping companion he paused seeing a small content smile on Harry's lips. Snape carefully put the young man's head on the pillow he had monopolized last night and slowly got up. The idea that his subconscious had just called Potter "Harry" never registered in his mind.

Involuntarily glancing at his now unblemished left forearm he unwound the bandage from around his chest and carefully explored his ribcage. The bruise that had obviously unsettled Potter had drastically diminished during the night and was now a healing colour of yellowish parchment. His ribs protested every movement but after he massaged into them some of the salve that was used on his (now completely healed) arm he was able to renew the search of his wand.

In typical Gryffindorish negligence Potter had left it under the chair he had been seated on. Smirking Snape repossessed, at least for the time being, his faithful twelve inch ebony. He had no doubt that this morning would be the last time in many years if not forever when he felt the familiar reassuring length in his wand arm.

Temporarily shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind he started cleaning and repairing his battered clothing.

Holding up the battle robes the wizard noted with regret those were beyond restoring. Dragon hide was highly priced for its durability and reliability, but once punctured or torn only objects of smaller size could be created out of the remaining material. Folding the remains of his robes up on the chair, he proceeded to the kitchen and had to content himself with a couple of almost black bananas and a cup of strong tea. To his surprise the fruits were tastier than the spotless ones he was in the habit of consuming. (1)

Snape returned to the room and out of a life-long habit started to clean up the potions they had left on the floor. A vial of a creamy substance labeled "Skin Lotion" caught his attention. Having never heard of the likes of the potion before the Potions Master carefully unscrewed the cap of the middle-sized jar and looked at the bluish cream-like substance the colour, texture and scent of which still told him nothing.

'_Why would Potter want to use an experimental potion on me.'_ Reflected Severus.

Remembering the characteristic custom-made after-taste of the Skele-Gro the night before and not able to place the technique as belonging to any of the Potions Masters of his extensive acquaintance his thoughts then wondered to the conversation they had.

'_It would seem Granger has received Potions Mastery in the recent years. The strange thing is I can not call to mind any significant works bearing her name.'_

Opening the potions cabinet to put away the used vials he was amazed at the wide assortment of health potions there. Testing some of them he could distinguish the by-now-familiar style.

'_The girl clearly didn't have time to delve further than her Mastery project with the war going on. Still I should congratulate her if I have the chance.'_

Closing the cabinet he looked around the room for something else to distract his attention and finding nothing silently cast "Tempus". 9.45. More than five hours until the inevitable arrival of the other Aurors.

Settling on the softened floor near Potter's still sleeping form he started his much-needed meditation and Occlumency exercises.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

Harry woke up to mingled feelings. He was being observed and he only had the vaguest recollection of the events of the night before.

Rolling to one side from the awkward spread-eagled position on his back in which he often woke when sleeping on the floor he caught sight of Snape who was clearly meditating. The older man's eyes were seeing through him.

Suddenly remembering the recent events he slightly shivered at the memory of talking to the ugly Mark. Not quite awake, Harry put off the inevitable analysis of the conversation and carefully rose to his feet noting with surprise that the muscle aches were mysteriously gone.

A quick glance showed him that all the potions were back in the cabinet. Harry was hard-pressed to hide a small grateful smile at the thought of Snape feeding him the necessary potion after he had lost consciousness.

With a muttered "Good morning" the young man went about his morning routine never noticing a small start the other gave before resuming his Occlumency exercises.

A contrast shower later Harry was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the kettle to boil and for the remains of the meat to re-heat. Absentmindedly peeling a banana the young Confessor tried to come up with a suitable plan to persuade the Wizengamot to release Snape without causing too much of an uproar.

He was now relieved that it was deemed by the senior Order members that the public disclosure of the presence of a spy would create more damage than good. Harry clearly remembered his own fury when the decision to keep quite was forced on him.

Hogwarts rumor mill had naturally spread far and wide the news that Dumbledore was supposedly killed by either Draco Malfoy or Snape, both of whom were added to the Ministry list of "known Death Eaters" yet the complete information of the night the Headmaster died had never officially been made public.

Mentally re-creating the list of crimes alleged to each "known Death Eater" Harry bemusedly realized that notwithstanding the unofficial "bring in alive or dead" order issued by the MLE (2) department and also supported by every DA (3) and Order member the legal list pertaining to Snape only consisted of several general as well as high-level Death Eater raids. No first-hand murder evidences. Even the widely known fact of Snape being Voldemort's "Potions Monster" was, if Harry remembered correctly, yet to be officially proved by a jury of at list three certified Potions Masters familiar with his brewing style.

Having organized his knowledge of the present the young man forced himself to open the can of worms that were his memories of the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts for what felt like the first time ever.

Using his Confessor abilities Harry circled the figures frozen in place in the horrible moments of Dumbledore imploring with Snape. From this changed perspective his was able to catch the briefest of glances the dying man sent toward Draco. Wide-eyed his then saw a similar fleeting glance Snape sent in the direction of the young Slytherin before raising his wand and uttering the two words that still haunted Harry in his nightmares.

Jerking free of the memory he drank a huge gulp of tea not feeling the hot liquid burning his tongue and throat.

'_These two glances.'_ He told himself. _'I couldn't have probably seen them frozen under the bloody Invisibility Cloak.'_

'_Had you reviewed the memory earlier, would you have paid attention, frozen in anger?'_ Sneered the little voice.

Briefly closing his eyes in resignation, Harry returned to the present.

A feeling of intense unease clutching at his guts, he slowly examined his actions in the light of these new revelations. While a Confession overruled all amount of official and unofficial evidence gathered against Snape it had to be held in the presence of at least one other Confessor and a Ministry official. The results of the "mind-raping" as many of the subjects called this highly unpleasant experience had to be registered immediately after the Confessor returned to reality on a specially charmed parchment thus sealing them as the official result of the investigation.

In the hindsight Harry was disgusted with the implications of his actions. Blinded by anger he abducted their most reliable and long-term Ally and turned into a painful farce the Confession that, held properly, would have given him almost the same satisfaction at the same time particularly guaranteeing Snape his freedom. The freedom the "means" of achieving which he had so haughtily thrown at the man's face the night before.

Clutching his mug in his suddenly freezing fingers Harry swore to himself to find a way to fulfill his obligations as a Confessor and a Light wizard without further violating the man's mind.

'_If only a Reader of Light consented to verify the discoveries of this Confession.'_ He thought desperately, assessing his options. _'But with how embittered everyone "in the know" is I highly doubt any of the two currently on the Wizengamot judge board will be professing themselves. Elly had lost all her remaining family during one of the "inner circle clean-ups" and Mark…'_

Bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation he gulped down the brownish liquid in his mug refilled the kettle. Suddenly remembering a very useful spell Ron's mum had taught him he boiled the water with a swish of his wand, smiling a small bitter smile.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry entered the room. Looking directly into Snape's emotionless face, he said, "Would you join me for a cup of tea, sir?"

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) – a wink at my granny who always proclaimed them "rotten" and refused to even taste;  
(2) MLE Magical Law Enforcement;  
(3) DA Dumbledore's Army


	6. Misunderstanding

**Disclaimer**: nothing you recognize is mine.

**A/n:** I need a beta. Please see my profile for details.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

"My, my have you really learned some manners, Potter?" Sneered Snape not moving a muscle to get up from his cross-legged position on the floor. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Why yes, _Professor,_" Harry sneered back with a passable imitation of Snape's death glare, "I can actually be agreeable if I choose to. Now would you please follow me to the kitchen? There are some rather pressing matters that need to be discussed before we leave each other's company and I'd rather do it at the table than sitting on the floor."

"I have absolutely nothing to discuss with _you_, Potter," spat Snape, "and would rather await the arrival of the Aurors in silence." His eyes narrowed dangerously and he added in a most venomous hiss, "Unless you wish to take another trip into my memory. Either way I am much more comfortable where I am."

Harry inwardly cursed. How was Snape always able to expertly anger him? Him who had stared down Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' murderer, never feeling a thing at all her insults and taints? And here he was struggling to suppress his suddenly flaring anger and not blow up like some besotted fifteen-year-old. Realizing that his temper had risen at the mention of yesterday's roguish Confession he accepted that he deserved much of what Snape was about to dish at him and sat down facing the older wizard.

Never letting his gaze wander away from Snape's black eyes Harry said, "The Aurors are not coming to his house, Snape. And I think that you will wish to discuss the full pardon for the crimes you were forced to commit in order to maintain your position on Voldemort's side."

Harry cringed when black fire started pouring from Snape's yes at this simple statement. It was exceptionally frightening to behold given the man's rigid posture. The Potions Master's entire body seemed carved of stone but for those eyes.

After what seemed to Harry an eternity of being scorched by this flame Snape finally answered in a voice so full of contempt it made him flinch but still he refused to drop his eyes.

"I seem to have underestimated you yet again, Potter. So this is the boon our _Chosen One_ has demanded from the Ministry for quenching his adversary?! The carte-blanche to deal with the traitor the way he pleases? Voldemort had devised many charming ways to torture his enemies yet this excellent mind-screwing far surpasses many of them. So. What 'full pardon' have you prepared for me in this slaughter-house?"

Too shocked to speak, Harry sat there staring at Snape. He didn't feel his mouth falling slightly open nor how all blood rushed to his heart, leaving his face ghostly white. Light-headed and reeling he heard his mind scream, _'NO! How could he think so low of me as to interpret my words as such a thick mockery?!'_ Harry was taking deep calming breaths when it dawned on him that there was but one way to make Snape trust his motives short of dosing himself with Veritaserum.

Without hesitation the young man pointed his wand at himself and said, "I, Harry Potter, swear on my magic to tell Severus Snape nothing but absolute, literal truth for the next fifteen minutes. So mote it be."

A fiery red mist similar to the magical cords of an Unbreakable Vow enveloped both wizards.

"Snape", he began, "I discovered during yesterday's Confession and today's analysis of my own memories of the events at the Astronomy Tower that you have been the Ally of Light all the time of your this last stay with Voldemort. The crimes you have committed while gruesome have been leveled out and outbalanced by the deeds you performed in order to bring about the mortality and then ultimate destruction of the said wizard. You should have been therefore acquitted of all charges and commended as all those fighting on our side."

"In an fit of anger I have abducted you thus making the conclusions of this Confession unlawful. However, as demands my position of Confessor given to me by the Magic as well as my own conscious it is now my ultimate responsibility to see to it that the evidence be legally accepted and all honours be bestowed on you."

With that, Harry collapsed once again onto the floor and the mist dissipated.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

Fulfilling his usual Occlumency cycle Snape came to terms with his impending imprisonment. He firmly stomped on the hope of the evidence Potter had undoubtedly gathered in his mind being brought to light during his trial. After all, this was why he was brought to this house. So that whatever was discovered didn't have to be officially registered in the Ministry files.

He ignored his own little voice telling him of Potter's uncharacteristically calm behaviour, the way the young man called him "sir", forcibly the first few times in his mind land then increasingly less so after their return to reality, the gentleness with which he tended to his injuries.

He even persuaded himself that the act that so shocked him yesterday evening, Potter removing his Dark Mark was meant to make him easier to catch off-guard and possibly instill false hope.

How many times in the past did Voldemort do just the same thing? The mantra of a Russian ex-convict he once met and spent a day talking to was ever since burnt into his brain like the Dark Mark into his arm. "Don't trust. Don't fear. Don't beg." (1) That was what led that man through twenty long years in the freezing gold mines of the snowy Siberia.

It was when Potter pronounced his ridiculous desire to discuss the "full pardon" that he finally snapped. Full pardon, indeed. He remembered only too well all the "honours" he was granted by his "master" and no doubt the others did as well.

And then it seemed so clear. The Aurors were not coming after him. Which could mean only one thing. Potter had already bargained his award with the Ministry of Magic. Him. His life.

Spitting out the bile that suddenly rose in his throat in the form of the words he would never forget he saw Potter blanche. Never before had he seen the brat look so gaunt, not even after his Dementor-induced fall to the Quidditch Pitch the year when Black escaped Azkaban. Now even his cheeks seemed to have fallen in.

For long moments the boy simply sat there looking as if he had just seen the ghost of Voldemort take corporeal form yet again. And then he cast the self-binding Unbreakable Vow (Snape briefly wondered how that was even possible) and said the words that shattered all of Severus' resolve before collapsing onto the floor which as the now shell-shocked ex-Death Eater guessed was the sign that the Vow was completed.

'_Satisfied now?'_ Sneered his mind's voice. _'You have spectacularly outwitted yourself, Severus Snape. He IS a Gryffindor after all.'_

Snape got up and laid the young Confessor in a more comfortable position. Not daring to enervate the man after the second course of magical exhaustion in less than twenty four hours he sat at his side hoping the other was not falling into the magical coma. 

Three long hours passed without bringing any change in Potter's condition when a loud crack announced the end of the first day of Voldemort's final demise and the arrival of two persons Snape wasn't in the least surprised and even relieved to see in this house.

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) In Russian, "Не верь, не бойся и не проси". Из "Колымских рассказов" Шаламова.


	7. The Cavalery Arrives

**Disclaimer**: everything you recognize is not mine.

I have updated the first six chapters, making them somewhat closer to cannon and dealing with my direct speech problem, but there is only so much one can do without a beta.

To do so I needed to analyze Snape dialogs of all the books. See a link in my profile to the first five posted on my LJ.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

Hermione frowned an applied another glob of the bluish cream to the inflamed underarm of the young man patiently sitting in front of her. Again, the potion sizzled as if laid on a frying pan and evaporated a minute later.

"I am sorry, Draco. The Lotion worked before but it seems that it is unable to stop the disintegration of the Mark."

Before she could say another word they were interrupted by a hurried entrance of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Ronald Weasley, both of whom looked rather frazzled. Shack opened his mouth to say something quickly approaching the bed where the were sitting but one glance at Draco's arm made him change his mind.

"How is he?", briskly inquired the burly Auror.

"Not good. Only the Body Lotion has some effect. All other salves and potions evaporate before even getting in contact with the skin. What of the others?" Her eyes quickly took in Ron's disheveled appearance and the slightly frantic look in his eyes, then returned to the Order's third in command.

"The same. None of those who gave in or were captured on the field seem unaffected. And some have brought themselves in preferring to take the offer of a life-time in Azkaban to the inevitable death. Seems they think we could cure this -" he gestured at Draco's arm. "Or a least Potter can, seen as he did in He-who-must-not-be-named."

"Can he now…" she muttered, remembering their dispute of several months ago.

"There is a problem, Mione,", Ron entered the conversation, "we can't find Harry."

She rounded on him. "What do you mean you can't find him? You were there yesterday, were not you? I thought you two were at the Ministry interrogating Death Eaters ever since."

Ron shook his head and answered, "Shack and I were but Harry wasn't." He glanced at Kingsley.

Shacklebolt laid a hand on Draco's shoulder before saying, "Snape was there yesterday." She heard the blond gasp. "I started dueling the old bugger to let Harry deal with He-who-must-not-be-named," despite the gravity of the situation Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes, "and got him with a Blasting Curse – that globe of light finally got the bastard distracted – and then Harry snatched him away telling me to come after them in 24 hours…"

Ron it seemed couldn't take it any longer. "And you let him." He hissed in a dangerous tone of voice. "You should have followed them and made sure this piece of shit didn't get at Harry. He's as dangerous as Voldemort now!"

"Ron!" Exclaimed Hermione.

"No, Mione. Don't start this 'he may be on our side' garbage again. You see what he's done now?! He's killed Harry and got away with it. Just like he had with Professor Dumbledore!"

"Ronald is right, Hermione." Draco put in. "I told you Severus was very dangerous. Wouldn't surprise me if he even knew how to deal with _this_." He winced lifting his left arm.

She felt exasperated like very time when they refused to listen to her on this particular subject. Every other piece of planning and she always was in the center of the discussion, but as soon as she tried to talk about Professor Snape everyone seemed deaf, like Fudge was that night after the Triwizard Tournament.

"Kingsley, tell me please what _exactly_ happened after the light globe disappeared? Every movement you saw."

Shack looked slightly uncomfortable. "We were dueling – Snape was hit with the curse – got him right in between is right arm and his side…" Ron gave a satisfied grunt, "- then he raised his wand like in salute – honestly, the nerve of the bastard! – and then in Apparates Harry, takes him by his wand-arm – and they're gone. And Harry makes me this sign…" He trailed off then turned to Ron. "You know Harry. He wouldn't have let Snape use his wand after this."

"Then where the bloody hell are they?! We checked every damn hole. I'm still dizzy from all those Apparitions."

And then it dawned on her. "No, Ron, not _every_. You couldn't have gone to the Shack, could you?"

Ron's eyes bulged. "Mione, no way. He couldn't. Bring the damn traitor to our sanctuary?!"

She shook her head. "He had just brought down Voldemort. He might not have been thinking straight." And she added in her head, 'And if what I suspect is true he might have subconsciously brought Snape to the only place safe from all but us.' She glanced ant her fiancé. 'Hope it _is_ safe.'

"Let us go check then." Ron got his wand from its holster. "Shack, would you find Bill Weasley? If Mione or me are not back in one hour, you know what to do." He took a quill and a bit of parchment from the nearest bedside table and hastily scribbled a note. "Show this to Bill. You will still have to dismantle the wards… Snape won't be able to Apparate out there though", he added as an afterthought.

Hermione rose to her feet and left with the two men, reminding Draco to continue applying the Lotion.

They went out of St. Mungo's and found a secluded corner to part ways. "An hour, Shack." Ron repeated. "One of us should come to the Headquarters before then if everything goes right."

On Ron's insistence she drew her own wand and hand in hand they Apparated directly into the lone room of the house. Only to see Snape sitting in their sleeping corner leaning on the wall. Harry, seemingly unconscious, lay beside him with his head on Snape's lap. Unable to believe her eyes Hermione saw the older wizard tuck a stray strand of hair behind her friend's ear.

The next moment she had to hold onto Ron who launched himself at their former professor not even bothering to say a word. "Ron!" She urgently said holding both the redhead's hands and positioning herself between him and the two on the floor. "We have to help Harry first."

Ron froze and, screwing his wand arm from her grasp, pointed it at Snape and hissed, "What have you done to him, traitor?"

Snape looked at the two of them with an unreadable expression on his face. "Nothing, Weasley." He said. His gaze then shifted to her, "Good day, Miss Granger." He glanced back at Harry with – was it unease that flitted in his eyes? "Potter suffers of a rather severe course of magical exhaustion. In fact the second in twenty four hours."

She gasped and urgently whispered, "He hasn't…"

"No, he hasn't slipped into magical coma. Yet." There it was again, the unease, now in his voice. "However, he has been unconscious for three hours with no change in condition."

She paled. "I hope you didn't try to ennervate him, sir?" Hermione ignored Ron's disgusted snort.

Snape shook his head. Releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding, Hermione rushed to the potions cabinet, throwing a last warning glance in Ron's direction. She came back seconds later with a Magic Replenishing potion and knelt at Harry's side, expertly making him swallow the draught.

"It's quite a skill you've got, Miss Granger." Snape's calm voice shattered the tense silence of the room.

"I am a Healer, Professor." She answered, sitting down. "He should come to in ten minutes." She added looking Snape directly in the eyes. "Now would you please explain what happened here?"

"I can tell you what happened." Growled Ron, who had stood the whole time in the same place, never letting his wand waver from Snape. "Harry had to duel this piece of filth on top of defeating Voldemort. And collapsed. And after this_ Death Eater_ had found out he couldn't leave the wards he decided to make it seem like he cares… Like Harry was unconscious for whatever other reason."

He took several steps closer and looked at Snape with deathly anger and utter contempt. "Tell us, Potions Monster, which of _the_ Potions have you fed Harry while he laid there helpless? Which of them would react with the Magic Replenisher so that _**Potter**_," Ron mockingly imitated Snape's usual way of spitting out Harry's name, "will be harmless for you with his evidence of you murdering Professor Dumbledore?!" He took another step and loomed over Harry's still unconscious form.

Hermione gasped and felt her heart skip a beat. Was Ron finally correct? Was she mistaken all the time? Like in a horror movie she saw again each and every victim of _the_ potions in her mind's eye. Blanching and literally feeling her hair stand on end, she stared at the older man.

Snape didn't move. Raising a sarcastic eyebrow he drawled, "Miss Granger, it would seem, has managed to teach you to be more eloquent in these past years, Weasley. Potions Monster, eh? I am quite honored." Ron gnashed his teeth and opened his mouth ready to curse Snape, when the man drolly added, "And to answer your question, no, I haven't drugged Mister Potter here as he no doubt will soon be confirming himself."

Hermione teared her eyes from the quarrelling men and noted with surprise and relief that Harry was indeed awake now. He had set up somewhere during Ron's tirade and was now leaning heavily onto Snape, his face set, his eyes blazing with some strange emotion.

"Ronald Weasley," he whispered, "I would be grateful if you shut your trap before saying another word. As it is you owe _our __**Ally**_ an apology."

Relief flooding her Hermione drew Harry into a fierce hug. Her friend weakly returned the embrace still looking at Ron who froze, thunderstruck and then roared, "He _has_ drugged you, Harry. Or was it a Confundus Charm? Remember, during our Fourth year? How else could you be calling," Ron visibly cut himself off under the Boy-who-lived-to-astonish-them's icy glare, "_him_ our _Ally_?!"

Hermione shook off her daze and rose to her feet. "That is quite enough, _Ronald_. _**I **_can tell you Harry is not confounded, and as for being drugged, have you forgotten how such potions interact with the Magic Replenisher?"

Ron stopped talking, still glaring at Snape.

"Now, Harry, would you please tell us what the hell happened here?"

Ron whistled at her use of the invective and to her surprise Hermione saw a hint of red appear on Harry's pallid cheeks.

"I owe you an apology, Mione. You were right – all the time. And I pulled a Fudge and refused to listen." He turned around and firmly stated, "And I owe an apology to the Professor. I took him here and forced him into Confession…"

Hermione was appalled recognizing the indications of Harry's concession, yet refrained from stating the obvious about him violating half a dozen laws. Instead she muttered, "Toby."

"What?!"

"Professor Snape is Toby, Ron." She could almost sympathize with her boyfriend who looked at Harry as if he had just sprouted an extra head. Under no circumstances could a Confessor lie about such conclusions, registered or no, and Harry simply nodded once.

"And the Tour?" Managed Ron in a strangely high-pitched voice.

"Draco." Was the only reply.

Ron's big hand closed painfully on her shoulder as he turned to Snape. She saw him open his mouth but no words came out. Ron's ears went brick red, then his neck, then his face. Hermione gently unclenched his fingers and laid her hand on Ron's shoulder. He never seemed to notice. Finally he forced himself to speak.

"Professor," Ron said gravely, "I…" He swallowed loudly and continued, "I humbly beg your pardon for calling you all those names." There was another pregnant pause then he continued. "I, Second Confessor, will do my utmost to rectify the mess created by the First Confessor's course of action." He broke off completely staring at Snape.

Hermione saw the Potions Master glance between Harry and Ron, his eyebrow almost completely disappearing in his hairline. At long last he said, "Apology accepted."


	8. Trust is not easy

**Disclaimer:** everything you recognize is not mine.

**A/n:** still need a beta.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

Harry came to his senses feeling like a herd of buffalo were having a ball in his head. Sitting up he leaned onto something warm and steady beside him. He swallowed against the metallic aftertaste undoubtedly left by a Magic Replenishing potion and tried to regain his hearing when a stray thought formulated in his mind_, 'I gotta stop swooning or Snape will never let me live it down.'_

'_Whoa! Where did _that_ come from?'_ He barely suppressed a chuckle.

Harry shook his head and his hearing started to return. He heard someone speaking, like a muffled radio slowly turned to full volume. Ron. Shouting at Snape.

"…Tell us, Potions Monster, which of _the_ Potions have you fed Harry while he laid there helpless?…"

Harry winced, tried to speak up and almost slid to the floor overcome by a dizzy spell yet someone put a steadying arm across his waist helping him remain seated. Harry leaned heavily into this someone, waiting for the roaring in his years to subside and the multicoloured spirals to leave his vision.

At long last his senses kicked back into action and he saw a very incensed Ron looming over him and a pale-faced Hermione at his side. He heard her gasp in horror at whatever logical nonsense Ron had just spit in Snape's face… But where was the damn man?

Startled, he heard his supporter answer in Snape's characteristic drawl, "Miss Granger, it would seem, managed to teach you to be much more eloquent in these past years, Weasley…"

Wondering who of the two stubborn asses would be the death of him first, Harry quickly shut Ron up and was engulfed in Hermione's bear hug which nearly made him faint again. _'What is it with me today'_, he wondered, not letting his eyes off Ron. His best friend almost choked as he swallowed the end of his ramble.

And then Hermione asked the question that immediately made him forget his physical discomfort. He _had_ to make Ron and Hermione believe the seriousness of the situation and the correctness of his conclusions. After all, if his closest friends and fellow Confessors won't, who else would? (1)

Never more grateful for Hermione's ability to use cold logic in the face of the fire and not to pass out judgment fueled by raw emotions like he and Ron did, he said, alluding to their many disputes, "I owe you an apology, Mione…" Saying the same to Severus in the presence of the two persons whose opinion mattered the world to him was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Harry froze, waiting for their reactions, hoping Ron was able to accept the truth, forgetting _-again- _what a Confessor's word was meant to mean.

He heard Hermione explain Snape's position, forced himself to answer the two inevitable questions that followed and worried that Ron was going to explode with hexes or have a stroke; the red-head had turned a shade of purple that rivaled uncle Vernon's.

"Professor… I… I do humbly beg your pardon for calling you all those names…"

Reeling with relief and gratitude he listened as Ron stumbled out his apology to the man he hated perhaps more than Voldemort and offered help with the mess he, Harry, had created and almost missed Snape's soft mutter of "Apology accepted.".

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

"Ron!" She smothered him with a hug as she did Harry.

Seemingly shaken by this civil exchange with their former Professor, Ron stumbled backwards, nearly making them fall atop of Harry and Snape. "Hermione, geroff! I cannot breathe!" He disentangled himself from her grasp, leaving a quick peck on her cheek.

With visible reluctance Ron said, "I have to go tell Shack everything is sort of okay here, or they will be Apparating in in ten minutes. Will you be all right with the two of them?" He looked torn between the necessity to report to the Order and leaving her in the company of a Death Eater spy and an only semi-coherent Harry.

"Touching, Weasley," sneered Snape from the floor. "Would it appease your concerns as to Miss Granger's wellbeing during your absence if I were to surrender my wand to you?"

Hermione saw Ron's eyes widen and had to once more lay a steadying hand on his shoulder as he yelled, "Harry, _how could you_ have left him in possession of his wand?!" Harry winced at the yelling and opened his mouth to reply when the true meaning of Snape's word seemed to register with Ron and he whipped his head in the man's direction.

"You would surrender me you wand?… _Sir_?"

Snape continued to stare at her friend and Hermione could almost see the wheels move in the latter's head. "No, it wouldn't be necessary," Ron slowly said. "Yet," he added in a menacing growl. "But would you put it on the windowsill?" Snape raised an eyebrow and he elaborated. "Anti-Summoning Charm. And our wands are of no use to anyone who is not a Confessor."

"I see," muttered Snape, nearly setting Ron off again. "That explains why Potter's wand wouldn't work yesterday." At Ron's smoldering glare he continued in a bored voice, making Harry blush as both her and Ron gaped in surprise, "I am not in the habit of sharing a quilt with former students, Weasley."

Hermione glanced at her watch and gasped, "We have three minutes left, Ron."

When he didn't move, she knelt beside Harry and Snape. "I'm sorry, Professor, but we have to proceed with the Anti-Summoning Charm or half the Order will be Apparating here with Bill Weasley bringing down the wards."

The older man wordlessly extended his wand to her and she noticed quickly masked sadness in his black eyes before rushing to the window and casting the charm. "Ron, just go!" she cried and breathed a sigh of relief at the tell-tale pop of his Apparition.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

"…I, Second Confessor, will do my utmost to rectify the mess created by the First Confessor's course of action."

Bemused, Snape stared at the scene before him sensing an undercurrent he was yet to understand. Weasley. Apologizing _to him_ after less than five minutes' reflection and hesitation? And yet he could read no second-meaning in one of the most hot-headed and Gryffinodrishly blunt men he knew. One didn't need to be a Legilimens to assess the level of shock and even horror Ronald Weasley must be experiencing.

He briefly considered say "No.", reveling in the pettishness of the idea despite the gravity of the situation then muttered, "Apology accepted." _'Will he die of shock?'_ supplied a little voice in his head. It immediately shut up however when Potter almost sagged with relief, leaning into him. He tightened his arm across the boy's waist… How and when did he start supporting the brat?!

Weasley's loud voice interrupted his musings. "…Will you be all right with the two of them?" Snape felt his respect toward the "Second Confessor" rise a notch. They did barrage into an unknown danger yet had the presence of mind to at least have a backup plan.

The young man's distrustful stare digging into him Snape resigned himself to the inevitable and proposed to surrender his wand. _'Semblance of free will, eh?'_ said the maddening voice. Yet his ex-student didn't jump at the offer. After the expected attempt to bite off Potter's negligent head Weasley suddenly rounded on him, clearly _seeing_ him for the first time since the duo's arrival. It was now his turn to surprise Snape by the decision to leave said object in the same house as him if out of reach.

Then finally he was gone, making the remaining three sigh with relief.

For several minutes silence reigned in the room, then Harry began to stir rubbing his eyes. "Hermione, fetch me a Pepper-Up please. I'm falling asleep and we should start preparing for the trial."

In an instant, the girl was sitting beside them. "You will drink no such thing, Harry James Potter! Now, tell me what you have gotten yourself into that resulted in _two_ courses of magical exhaustion!"

Snape could almost feel Potter glower at the Healer who was at the moment frighteningly resembling Madam Pomfrey. "Harry, tell me or I will be forced to dose you with a Dreamless Sleep and instead of two hours' nap you will sleep for at least twelve – as you should!"

Potter gasped, "You wouldn't!"

Tired of Potter's childishness, he joined the argument. "Potter, you will stop this infantile behaviour this instant and tell Miss Granger what she needs to know. Otherwise I will help her dosing you with the Sleeping Draught!" he snapped in his Potions classroom voice.

"Uh, 'kay," slurred the young wizard visibly failing to keep his eyes open.

"Took him here… forced the Confession… returned back at 'bout midnight… assessed the damage of Shack's Blasting Curse… had to remove the Mark…" Hermione gasped loudly, her gaze flickering to his left forearm, "…woke up next morning… tried to persuade him I would make the conclusions of the Confession official… Severus being a stubborn ass… had to make a self-binding Oath… woke 'gain to Ron's shouting…" His eyes closed and he was fast asleep still slumped against Snape.

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) taken from my favorite movie Terminator II, when John stops Sarah from destroying the chip.

"If I am to be this _great military leader_, may be you will start listening to _my_ leadership ideas once in a while?! … If my own mother won't, who else would?"


	9. Misinformation and Misjudgment

**Disclaimer**: nothing you recognize is mine.

**A/n**: I was looking forward to this chapter ever since I started writing the story._ -evil chuckle- _Will say no more for now.

* * *

**Severus' POV**

Torn between feeling indignant and amused at Potter's usage of his given name and calling him an ass Severus slowly lowered the whelp to the floor, propping his head on the pillow and threw a questioning glance at the girl… no young woman beside them.

She drew her wand, waved it in a complicated motion over Potter's sleeping form and visibly relaxed. "Thank Merlin, he hadn't done any permanent damage to himself. Yet he will feel like hell until he gets at least ten hours of uninterrupted sleep," and she added almost too low for him to hear, "and we really can not afford it."

A heavy silence hung between them. Granger worried her lower lip with her teeth like she used to do as a student, looked straight at him and said, "Professor, could you please tell me how Harry removed your Dark Mark? None of our potions and incantations seem to make much of a difference and it's destroying it's bearers." 

"What?!" he blurted out, sounding remarkably like Weasley. "No questions as to _what_ forced Potter make his declaration?"

She shook her head. "I'm the Third Confessor, sir. We _can not _lie about information such as Harry forced from you. He spoke in his Voice. That was what made Ron shut up and listen."

He stared at the bushy-haired witch and at the boy at his side for what truly felt like the first time in these two roller-coaster days. Potter, First Confessor, an hereditary gift so ancient that its rare manifestations were all but legend. Weasley and Granger, faithful sidekicks as he always thought of them, friends so close that they agreed to share this formidable power?

Granger's voice asked again, "Sir? What spell did he use? We need to help Draco. And may be some of the younger Death Eaters who haven't yet performed the third Unforgivable." She sadly added, "As it obviously takes this much out of the caster we won't be able to save them all."

His throat suddenly going very dry Snape mumbled in little more than a whisper, "Draco Malfoy is alive?" At her nod he felt a lone tear slid down his cheek, hating himself for this weakness. Dumbledore's sacrifice had not been committed in vain.

Snape slowly raised his head. "Lestrange? McNair? Wormtail?"

The girl shot him a blank look. "They have been all placed in the Ministry's new facility after Confession since Azkaban was no longer considered safe enough for high-rank Death Eaters. Why?"

He felt the bile he had poured onto Potter rise again and the Healer suddenly moved in front of the boy, slowly raising her wand when a dry, bitter, chilling mirthless chuckle escaped him. "Don't worry, Confessor," he said. "Did you ever wonder _why_ you instilled such a fear in the Dark Lo– Voldemort's ranks? It was not only due to the 'unpleasantness'," he chuckled again, "of the experience. It is common knowledge that once you get trapped in a memory you are left this way. Which is, as I am sure you will agree, a fate worse than a Dementor's Kiss."

The girl's hand flew to her mouth and she could only shake her head in mute horror, her eyes wide as saucers and full of tears.

"No," she moaned, "we couldn't. Sir, we couldn't! Leaving them to such memories… It's like being worse than the Dementors!" She choked on a sob.

Snape felt deeply uncomfortable. Not once during his career as the Hogwarts Potions Master did he drive an unfortunate student into tears. It felt satisfying then. Embarrassed by making a spectacle of themselves in front of their peers the brats behaved better for a while. And now here she was, a Gryffindor and an ex-student, valiantly struggling with her tears, and he didn't feel any satisfaction. To the contrary, he wanted to… comfort her?! and had now idea how to do it.

To his relief, Granger soon got a grip on herself. Blinking away tears she hissed in chilling voice that reminded him of Potter's, "When?"

"Excuse me?"

"When did this rumor start to circulate?"

Snape thought back to Rudolphus' escape from the Ministry. "About two and a half years ago," he answered looking questioningly at her.

"Rudolphus Lestrange," the Confessor continued to hiss in this deadly voice that sent shivers down his spine. Finally noticing his unasked question she proceeded to explain, her voice loosing it's dreadful coldness. "We captured several Death Eaters then. Lestrange was the only one who managed to escape shortly after the Confession… And he also was the only one who didn't appear shocked by Harry's new power…"

He nodded his understanding. "The power of misinformation…"

"Exactly. Voldemort wanted you to prefer death to spilling his secrets and what better way than threatening your personal ones."

Shaking her head Granger continued, "We will see to it that the truth about the whole Confessor thing be uncovered yet now we have more pressing matters at hand." She looked pointedly at him.

Remembering her initial question he shrugged, "I can not tell you much. Potter spoke to the Mark in Parceltongue. The snake in it spoke back," he involuntarily shivered at the memory, "then it dissipated – and Potter passed out."

The Healer looked very put out, yet continued to question him. "What do you mean by "dissipated", Professor?"

"It rose from," he glanced at his left arm, "where it was burned like black, dense snake-shaped fog, spoke with Potter then dissolved."

The next thing he saw was the tip of her wand.

"Roll up your sleeve." It wasn't a request. "I must check you for residual Black Magic."

Cursing his own lack of better judgment he shouldered off his robe and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. She stared at his unblemished skin then started waving her wand and he was unexpectedly surrounded by multicoloured light. Grey. And ocean of shades of grey with silver strands. Murky green. Dirty brown. Was it some light blue before his eyes? Stripes of deep blood-red in front of his torso. Not a shade of pastel yellow or light brown – that didn't surprise him – and yet – not a strand of black he was sure to behold. The black that signified the darkest magic, bottomless abyss and starless sky type of black, failure of light. Or maybe there was, where he couldn't see?

"Finite Incantato." Hermione lowered her wand and sent him a wide genuine smile. "Not one black dot, Sir."

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

She looked closely at the colours slowly circling Snape. So much grey_. 'What did you expect it to be? The lightest brown, gold and grassy green? It's a wonder there is no violet around his head,'_ sneered her down-to-earth part. The grey, tinted magic was the darkest around his left forearm, but as she saw with profound relief there was no blackness there, nor anywhere round him. (1)

"Not one black dot, sir," she said. Snape didn't move, he was still as a statue, and only a sharp intake of his breath indicated what the news really meant to him.

She rose to her feet, walked to the window and returned moments later with the Skin Lotion. "But I think we should still apply this potion to where the Mark was. Just to be on the safe side."

He shot the jar a suspicious look then glanced at Harry before asking, "Pray tell, Miss Granger, what is this potion supposed to be for? I have never read it reported."

She also looked at Harry. "We never considered publishing it, since it is only of use for a specific purpose and we didn't want Voldemort to know his summonses could be countered." She hesitated then added. "Only Draco and a couple of junior Death Eaters used it before."

She surprised him again, she could tell, but as he didn't comment she proceeded to apply the salve.

"Thank you," he said gravely as the potion vanished into his skin like it always did with the Mark. "It feels… easier." And then he added, his tone once more dripping with venom, "You developed a specific potion to ease the distress of a _Death Eater_ whose actions indirectly led to Dumbledore's demise?"

Hermione bristled and barely withheld a scathing comment. "The _Death Eater_ you're talking about had shown an intention to work with us under Confession, _sir_, and been of much assistance in the research of antidotes to _the_ Potions and breaking protection of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Snape stared at her long and hard. With an infinitesimal bow he said, "Should I congratulate you, Miss, with your Potions Mastery? Brewing _the_ antidotes, even with Mr. Malfoy's assistance was no small feat indeed given the scarce notes I was capable of providing. Also, the potions there," he nodded in the direction of the window, "are of passable quality."

She couldn't believe her ears. Snape? Praising a Gryffindor? "Passable quality"? From this men it equaled at least an "exceedingly well brewed" from Slughorn. And then her mind caught on with his mistake, and she started giggling. Uncontrollable, almost hysterical peals of laughter escaped her, easing the stress of the afternoon.

She felt his scorching glare and abruptly stopped laughing, realizing the utter rudeness of her reaction. "I beg your pardon, sir," she firmly stated, looking into his angry eyes. "But you are indeed mistaken. I received Masteries in Charms and Arithmancy, and our Potions Master is… Harry."

The man shook his head, denial written all over his suddenly unguarded face.

She continued, desperately wishing for Harry to be awake to see the unfolding scene. "After you fled from Hogwarts, we found all Half-Blood Prince's Potions books… and several other texts he worked with… It really is a pity you never considered composing school texts of your own…"

He continued to stare at her, seemingly stunned speechless.

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) The colours don't hold the meanings generally attributed to them. More like the ones I do. Some of them will be explained later.

Thank you, Maria, for your comments. Unfortunately I am not able to answer them, as I do for the registered users.


	10. Confrontations and Confessors

**Disclaimer**: nothing you recognize is mine.

Chapter contains some parts inspired by readers' comments :)

**Warning**: includes quite some swearing .

* * *

**Ron's POV**

Ron Apparated to the back yard of #12, Grimmauld Place and sprinted to the front door, cursing the house's former masters who had made it near impossible to anyone not blood related to the it's current owner to enter by the back door closest to this natural Apparition point.

Banging the door behind him he didn't even hear Mrs. Black's wails about little blood traitors disturbing the peace of the ancient house of Black and hurriedly entered the kitchen. Instead of three persons he expected to see there, Shack, Bill and Moody, he saw at least ten seated in tense silence at the table, their wands at the ready.

Before he could utter a word Ron was enveloped in his mother's one-armed hug. Returning it he glanced around the room noticing that all his brothers and Ginny were there as well as Malfoy who looked paler than when he and Hermione left in the afternoon.

"Report," barked Moody.

Ron run a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Don't worry, Mum," he said, having no idea how to break the news to them and fishing for something to say. "Harry will be alright."

She almost fell into her chair with Ginny immediately putting an arm around her.

'_I, Second Confessor, will do my utmost to rectify the mess created by the First Confessor's course of action.'_

Questioning stares bored in to him and still Ron couldn't find words to explain the situation, desperately wishing Hermione was there with her ability to eloquently disclose difficult matters, both scientific and mundane. Where was the ease with which he hurtled those long-thought-of insults at Snape now that he needed it?

"Bloody hell," he muttered, mussing his hair once more.

"What is it, Ron?" Ginny could tolerate the silence no longer. "Is Harry hurt? Why didn't you bring him back here? You said he _will be_ all right. Is Hermione tending him? Why did you – _**how could you**_ have left them both – _with Snape_?!" Her voice was raising and now sounded like strikes of gong to his already befuddled mind.

"Yes, little brother, why did you come? We would have brought down the wards, but you three's safety's well worth it." This from Bill.

Ron's ears turned pink at these accusations, and he raised his hand to forestall further comments.

"Don't worry. Snape," he couldn't help spitting the name, "won't hurt Harry. Hermione cast an Anti-Summoning Charm on his wand."

Wrong choice of opening sentence.

"Weasley," growled Moody, slowly raising from his seat. "You left – one of the most dangerous Death Eaters – in the same room as an obviously injured Potter – and your own fiancée – unbound – within an easy reach of his wand?!"

He motioned to Bill and Shacklebolt to follow him. "We are going there this very instant; we're lucky to be in time to get them alive!"

His mind finally snapping into gear, Ron hissed, not mentioning how his Voice made them shiver, "The First Confessor has established that _Professor_ Snape has been the Ally of Light for the whole duration of this war. And, under the codename "Toby", supplied information from the other side, and was of assistance in uncovering the locations of Voldemort's Horcruxes." Here, for the first time in his life, Ron saw Bill pale; Fred and George had contemplating looks on their faces; everyone else bar the two Order's seniors and, of course, Draco stared at him with evident confusion. "In order to maintain his disguise as Voldemort's close associate, _Professor_ Snape had to act as his Potions Master at the same time supplying us with _the_ Potions' antidotes. Therefore the First Confessor demands that _Professor_ Snape be acquitted of all charges."

By the time he finished speaking Moody's both magical and normal eyes were scouring him with such intensity he was hard-pressed not to squirm. In a flash the grizzled veteran had his wand trained at him. "Weasley has been confounded. We stun him and go get Potter and Granger."

His mum gasped and tried to shield him.

Before the ex-Auror could move another finger however, Ginny's and, to Ron's surprise, Malfoy's wands were pointing at him.

"Stop it, Moody," Ginny said in a dangerous voice that made him remember only too well why she, of all his siblings, was a Defense Mistress. "Don't pretend that you, of all people, haven't heard the Confessor's Voice. Even a _Polijuiced impostor_," she stressed the words, looking daggers at the paranoid Order Head-in-action, "couldn't have faked it. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "wouldn't Voldemort rejoice in his grave had we started to hex each other _after_ the war ended?"

Moody grudgingly lowered his wand and Ron slumped into a chair next to his mother. "I defended Snape," he mumbled, "I defended the greasy git."

Ginny smirked at him and drawled, imitating Malfoy, "Language, _Ronald_, you don't want them to believe you lied, do you?"

"Thanks, Gin," he said, not raising to the bite and nodding at the blond, before making a double take. "What the hell is _he_ doing here? Shouldn't you be at St. Mungo's, ferret, healing your paw?"

"I ran off, Weasley," Malfoy countered. "Couldn't pass the chance to see your little family all riled up about the dangers their _ickle Ronnie_ puts himself into, now could I?"

To Ron's surprise both Ginny and his mother smiled at these words.

At long last he stood up again and said in his normal voice, addressing the room in general, "Harry _will be_ fine. He had two courses of magical exhaustion," – more gasps, - "dealing with the bastard – but he woke up after Hermione fed him a Magic Replenisher. He's probably sleeping it off now. We didn't want you to come charging in."

He looked straight at Moody. "When do the trials start?"

"Tomorrow. The Ministry decided to sentence as many of the Death Eaters as quickly as possible in order to appease the public demand of vengeance before the Dark Mark consumes them." Draco winced at these words.

"Snape's trial is scheduled first, Weasley. You have the official Confession sheet, don't you? Under the circumstances the Ministry will undoubtedly disregard the second requirement."

Ron stared at him, then slowly shook his head.

"Weasley, let me put this straight," drawled Draco after a short silence, his pale eyes cold like two pieces of ice. "You and Granger came there and found Potter – probably unconscious – alone – with _Snape_ for company - and after you fed him your Magic Replenisher he told you – _**in his bloody Voice**_ -," the blond's own voice got even colder than his stare, "that the Death Eater he – supposedly – forced into Confession – was "Toby". And _the only reason_ you believed him – was his tone?!"

Put this way, Ron had to admit it, the evidence seemed more than murky – for someone who was not a Confessor.

"News for you, _Confessor_," sneered Malfoy, "I know Severus's handwriting – as should you after all the years he spent correcting your pathetic essays – and Toby's hand doesn't resemble it in the slightest. If anything, it indicates a person _our age_ – the Apprentice our spy claimed to be." (1)

He suddenly felt someone hug him. "It's all right, Ron," Ginny said, quickly letting go. "They couldn't understand. The only text I found that seems to have been written by a real First Confessor of the time and makes sense was in Gaelic." She winked and added, "Why not repeat the Confession in front of Wizengamot? That would royally piss them all off."

"Ginevra Weasley!" said the shocked voice of their mother. "Watch your tongue, young lady!"

Both ignored her.

"No, Ginny," Ron slowly said. "We will not rape even Snape's mind to – officially – confirm the truth that is already known. You're bloody lucky you don't know what the thing feels like."

Ron rounded on Malfoy, "Tell me, ferret, how would you have felt had _your_ Confession been considered "unofficial" and we were forcing you into another one and public at that? Was it not Harry's "tone" that made them budge when he argued _your_ cause with the Ministry of Magic when they pretended Confessor authority was outlawed in the XVIII century?"

Draco froze as if he had slapped him.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy," Shack spoke for the first time during the scene. "There are a number of spells one could use to alter his writing. I thought," he drolly added visibly teasing the blond, "they were taught in the Slytherin families at the tender age of eleven. To enable you writing anonymous reports on your schoolmates."

"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny," scowled the young man, looking thoughtful.

"So, Weasley," finally growled Moody. "You have the evidence that only you three see as valid. And you refuse to make it official the easiest way possible because of some "honour code" imposed on you along with the Confessor status. Very well. You have until noon tomorrow to find an _official_ way to prove it. I will withhold my final judgment of the scoundrel until then." He looked pointedly at him, "Courtroom ten. And if you four don't arrive on time, William _will_ bring down the wards of your "shack"." He snorted and turned to the other Order members, barking "Dismissed." and hobbled out of the kitchen, heading back to the Ministry where the Death Eater interrogations were being held.

Shacklebolt soon followed suit, nodding at Ron. "Till tomorrow, Weasley, and good luck. If what you said's true the press's going to have a field day. Gotta make sure Arcturus Lovegood comes to this trial." He winked and left.

His brothers leaving as well, Ron was approached by Bill. "What you said about Horcruces – that's where you four have been disappearing, wasn't it?" He still appeared shaken.

Ron nodded, not really paying attention. His elder brother looked at him with newfound respect then said before exiting the kitchen, "The goblins will probably pay a pile of gold to have any of you trained as Curse-breakers when this news is out."

He stared at were Bill stood then shook his head in disbelief.

"Would it never came out," he grumbled, dropping his head on the table. "Would the whole fucking situation when we have to witness on _his_ behalf had just gone to hell! 'The four of you.'" he imitated Moody, then gagged.

He noticed his mother's disapproving frown, yet she didn't comment. Still a little awkwardly holding her wand in her right hand, Mrs. Weasley started preparing tea.

Her, Malfoy, him and Ginny were drinking their second cups when his sister asked, "Well, was it true about the imposed "code of honour"? McGryffin, the Confessor who wrote that book, says nothing about it."

He glared at her. "Of course he doesn't. He must have been a Gryffindor, too. We don't need one _imposed_ on us." Draco sniggered.

"If there is no magical obstacle for you to do so, why not propose it to Severus?" he asked, ignoring Ron's scowl.

Ron's head dropped to the table once more, then he looked back at them. Letting a frustrated sigh he snapped, "Tell me, Malfoy, in these three years has there ever been a second Confession of any of the Death Eaters?"

"No. You three always claim one is sufficient."

Ron tried to explain, "There also has never been a very strong Occlumens interrogated who would withheld information. You can't make up memories when we're inside them but you can shove some so deep we don't come over them on the first few levels and may withdraw without seeing them.

"Severus _**is**_ a very strong Occlumens." Draco looked even more worried than before. "That means he _could have_ deceived Potter."

"No, you nitwit! He could have withheld _something_, not the answer to the main question Harry asked, or Harry would have never apologized for having made it unofficially."

He was gratified with the sight of Malfoy's mouth hanging open.

"Potter _apologized_?! I thought he was going to kill him on the spot!"

Ron decided to add the final blow. Humiliating as begging Snape's apology had been, he had since admitted to himself he had flown off the handle. "So did I… I called him all sorts of names when I saw Harry unconscious." He blushed and added defensively, "Still he is a bloody evil git!"

"My little boy is all grown up!" Mrs. Weasley hugged him tight and cried all over his chest. "Your father would have been so proud of you!"

"And," Ginny said at last, "what's wrong with the second Confession?"

"Other than we sort of promised not to? Two of us will have to do it at once. And we go all the way. Down to when he is a kid and first becomes aware of the world outside. Second war, our school time, first war, his school time, and down to when he's 5 or even younger." (1)

Mrs. Weasley looked uncertain, "I doubt he will ever agree."

"Of course he won't agree, mum! I wouldn't have had, had I known…" His mouth snapped shut when he realized what he was about to blubber out. A sharp pang of guilt made him look away.

"What was that, Weasley?" sharply asked Malfoy.

"Damn," he muttered, feeling three pairs of eyes on him. Anger once again raising its ugly head he all but shouted, "How do you think we became Confessors?! I have first-hand experience with Harry's power. And Hermione does."

Ginny slapped him on the arm. "Calm down, Ron."

Grinding his teeth he continued, dropping his voice an octave lower, "With us, Harry _**couldn't **_withdraw like he did with you, Snape, everyone else. Hell, even with this Lestrange bitch and Wormtail! He _**had**_ to go all the way down."

Ron took several deep breaths and felt his mother's hand stroking his hair. He turned a shade redder.

Grateful nobody commented on his outburst he finished his tea and rose from the table, kissing his mum on the cheek.

"I have to go. Harry should be awake already and may be Hermione has thought of something."

Malfoy rose as well and approached him, uncertainly saying, "Ron… Take me there… I… need to thank Severus." A hint of colour rose on his pallid cheeks. "He saved my life… And I avoided him like a plague afterwards." His straightened, but his left arm hung limply at his side. "I may not get another chance," he muttered through clenched teeth, visibly uncomfortable.

Ron nodded and handed him the note Shacklebolt returned him before departing. "Read this. I will key you into the wards when we get there."

* * *

**A/n:**  
(1) I meant the age when you suddenly look a little further than your nursery. I was four or five when I suddenly _heard_ the radio. It didn't consciously register before. 

This is all for now. I doubt I will upload another chapter until after I have read DH. Too much dread. -crosses fingers for her _favorite_ Potions Master to be on the side she wants him to be and come out of it all alive-


	11. Friends or Foes?

**Disclaimer: **nothing you recognize is mine.

**A/n:** the story is an AU from this point on. Contains no DH spoilers, but has obviously been influenced by the last book.

* * *

**Severus's POV**

Despite himself, Snape was impressed. Even not being a Reader he could simply feel how much the salve lightened the grayness around him. Some feeling started to come back to his arm that felt numb after the removal of the Mark.

Now was the time to acknowledge Granger's Mastery.

To his surprise, a different statement escaped his mouth. "You developed a specific potion to ease the distress of a _Death Eater_ whose actions indirectly led to Dumbledore's demise?" he said, still not fully comprehending her and Weasley's almost instantaneous acceptance of Potter's declaration and meaning as much himself as he did Draco.

Her answer left him speechless. They let an enemy of almost ten years in on one of the most guarded secrets both sides were silently battling to protect relying but on the conclusions of a Confession? Made him privy to information which could have bought the young Malfoy the Dark Lord's approval and probably saved Narcissa? Narcissa who, as he suddenly realized, was not killed in a potions accident at the Manor preparing Lucius' escape from Azkaban but paid the price of her son's betrayal.

Unbeknownst to him, the light blue noone in the room could see deepened around his head and spread downwards, nearly reaching his heart.

Pulling himself back to the present he finally said the appropriate words, torn between unexpected pride for his ex-student's accomplishment and reluctance to praise her to her face.

For a moment he was gratified by utter disbelief in her eyes, and then the girl started giggling. Annoyed by this unexpected reaction he was ready to utter a scathing comment about Gryffindorish immaturity when Granger abruptly stopped laughing. Shamefaced yet somehow producing the mischievous air of those impossible Weasley twins caught in the middle of brewing an unauthorized potion during his class she looked up and said, "…our Potions Master is Harry."

Snape started and slowly shook his head, trying to clear it. He had always been good at picking the merest whisper, a gift that let him discover many a brewing prank at Hogwarts where the dunderheads deemed themselves safe in the din of the Great Hall common meals. He had to have heard correctly.

Undoubtedly wishing to add truthiness to her jibe the impertinent chick mentioned his own old textbooks as having helped Potter.

"Miss Granger," he ground through gritted teeth, sending her his most disdainful look, "even if I was mistaken as to your Mastery, I don't find your joke the slightest bit funny."

The blank look on her face made him wonder if her words were indeed a joke. He never had a chance to dismiss the ridiculous idea when his ex-student bent over her friend and slowly and carefully, as not to waken the slumbering wizard, lifted one of his hands. Before Snape could react, she got hold of his right arm and laid it, palm upwards, under Potter's slightly smaller and more callused one.

Stupefied, he automatically closed his hand on the strangely smooth and cool skin. A closer look revealed that both Potter's hands were covered in the Glove Potion only used in brewing the most precise and volatile concoctions. The ones the preparation of which prohibited any kind of protective hides leaving the Potions Masters with the dubious solution of tanning their own skin for protection.

For the third time in two short days he felt grudging respect to the young wizard, mingled with near-disbelief that the boy he always considered nigh incompetent even in following textbook directions was in fact and intuitive brewer (1). _'Reminds you of someone else, doesn't it?'_ mocked the little voice.

Suddenly a small spark shot from Potter's palm into his and what felt like a spring of clear water bore in the middle of his hand, raising and disappearing into the boy's body in a multicoloured rainbow. He didn't know how long it continued, leaving him weary to the bone and strangely light and relaxed at the same time. Potter's hand that had been lying loosely atop of his clenched as the boy stretched, not letting it go. Clear and wide awake green eyes bore into his then stared accusingly at the girl that was still touching Snape's arm.

"Mione! What time is it?!" There was a slight panic in the tone. "You should have waken me after three hours! Do we have any time left to prepare defense?"

Ignoring her protests he rose to his feet and rushed to the window, obviously forgetting the Tempus spell.

"It's past six. We didn't show up at the Headquarters, why did Bill not bring down the wards by now?!"

Ha- Potter pulled his hand through his hair, visibly forcing himself to calm down then slowly turned back from the window. To Snape's unexpected relief he didn't seem wobbly or tired as he steadily approached the two of them and firmly demanded, "Explain." sitting down in front of the bushy-haired witch who was staring at Snape with something close to awe in her chocolate eyes.

Disconcerted by the strange expression he couldn't remember ever to be directed at him before, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, hiding behind a sneer.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

Hermione barely suppressed another laugh taking in Snape's expression when the Potions Master observed Harry's hands. Only after receiving the Mastery was one entitled to brew potions that demanded this particular protection. Something like regret flickered in Snape's gaze and then a soft glow started to emanate from the wizards' touching hands.

Transfixed, Hermione watched in awe as Snape supplied Harry the energy her friend so desperately needed to restore. _'Hilarious,'_ giggled the little voice in her head, _'they are both going to _love_ the implications of the exchange.'_ In times like this she really felt ashamed of her ability to make fun of serious situations, even if nobody guessed what the voice was saying.

Harry meanwhile had woken up and jumped to the logical yet completely erroneous conclusion that they had left him sleep his full.

"Explain," she heard him demand, still staring at Snape who visibly relaxed as soon as she tore her gaze away to answer the question. "It's the same day, Harry. You slept only one hour, we have plenty of time left."

Her best friend's eyes narrowed and he said slowly, as if talking to a small child, "It's not possible. I felt worse yesterday morning after removing the Mark, and I had slept for at least eight hours then."

She sighed and once more glancing at Snape proceeded to explain, waving away the feeling that explaining one thing or the other was all everyone was doing after the battle.

"Harry, all I did after you fall asleep was check the professor's arm and apply the Skin Lotion potion. He mistook me for a Potions Mistress, and I had to tell him that you were the brewer…"

He snorted and interrupted, "Like he's gonna believe _that_ of the _Precious Potter_." Harry suddenly rounded on Snape, "But you _were_ having us on, _Professor_, that first class, were you not? It is most certainly not possible to "bottle fame", while the other two feats, are, indeed, achievable."

"Harry!" she scolded.

"Yes, Mione?" he asked, batting his eyelashes and nearly making her giggle with relief at his antics, clearly showing how well rested he felt.

Smiling, Hermione continued, "Would you let me continue? He _didn't_ believe me and I…" she blushed slightly, "made him hold your hand."

Harry raised his hands to his eye level, noticeably confused, then an evil smirk directed at their professor spread across his face and he half-whined in a childish voice, "How could you have let him catch me red-handed? Now Snape will give me detention for the rest of my life for the unauthorized use of the Glove potion, and it is all your fault!"

She hit him upside the head nearly smirking herself and continued, ignoring Snape's death glare. "This time he must have accepted the truth… for your hands started glowing… and it seems that he transported you enough energy to compensate the exhaustion."

Her friend stopped mid-laugh and stared at Snape, his face deadly serious, then turned back to face her. "Mione? Are you saying what I think you are saying?" She nodded. Silence stretched in the room and at last she decided to break it. "Harry? It is not like that other bonding we agreed on. And we may not need to do it at all…" She paused not sure how to convince the reluctant young wizard.

"No, Hermione. I _will not_ drag Snape further into this mess. If none of the Readers agree to verify on our behalf," he drew a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye, "you and Ron confess _me_ during the trial."

She flung herself at Harry and hugged him tight.

Several minutes later Snape cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, would you care to elucidate what you and Potter are talking about?"

Harry looked at her as if to say, you started this talk, you continue it.

Silently cursing him, she braced herself and reluctantly said, "We were discussing the trial, sir." He almost imperceptibly stiffened.

"They will refuse to question you under Veritaserum – with half the board knowing how good an Occlumens you are."

"And with the fact I'm allergic to this potion," Snape muttered almost to himself.

Blinking, she continued, "There also are two Readers of Light among the members," a quick glance in Harry's direction showed him shaking his head, "but it is doubtful they will be volunteering themselves," she finished uncomfortably.

Snape's lip curled, but he said nothing.

"Then there is what Harry intends to do. Ron and I hold _his_ Confession so that it is immediately registered with the Ministry." She shivered, "There has been no precedent of a First Confessor's Confession that we know of, but I suppose it will be the same as when Harry was inside my memories and Ron's. He had to view all of them."

"Why would you mess with your _best friends'_ minds, Potter?" Snape asked sharply.

She saw Harry squirm a little under the ex-Death Eater's intense scrutiny then he reluctantly answered, "I _knew_ I had to find Second and Third Confessors. Ron and Hermione agreed… I didn't realize I had to view _all_ the layers of memories. It makes sense though…" he lowered his eyes and, knowing he was bout to embark on one of his guilt trips, Hermione urgently said, forcing him to look at her. "Harry. It needed to be done. We agreed. Voluntarily. No regrets, remember?" He looked back at her and for the first time in three years voiced the truth all three knew, "Ron has."

Silently cursing she reached over and shook him. "Harry, Ron doesn't regret agreeing to become a Confessor. He feels guilty that, had he known _beforehand_ he would be stuck in that memory with the spider bear he _could have_ refused. Believe me, he wouldn't have."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, looking at her with something like desperation.

"Remember that Death Eater, Dolohov, and his memory? Ron _chose_ to help you with it, and you know what it cost him to re-enter Aragog's lair."

"But… reviving your own memory is not the same at that of the others," Harry interjected, "especially one you think to be properly buried."

"We're discussing whether he would have agreed had he _known_ in advance".

Harry shook his head, obviously only half-convinced.

Grateful that the older wizard did not at least interfere with the exchange notwithstanding she could feel he gaze boring into them both she looked back at him and continued, "So we would have to view _a lot_ of his memories and," her tone suddenly became icy, "you must remember the _pleasantness_ of some of them. I assure you, some we have added since then are little more enjoyable than those you could have had while on the other side."

With an effort she calmed down and relayed the last option she desperately hoped they would agree upon. "Yet there is this other possibility I read about while we were researching ways to give Harry enough power to vanquish Voldemort. Had yesterday attempt not been successful we would have bonded to Harry thus giving him access to our magical resources…" she said quickly hoping to glass the disturbing part over with her farther discovery when Snape's usually sallow cheeks drained of all colour then became an ugly brick red.

She swallowed when the man suddenly jumped to his feet and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. Looking at her as if she were a spot of filth marring an impeccable dress robe he hissed in a voice that made her skin crawl as she instinctively reached for her wand, "Granger, do you delude yourself with the idea that, having just been freed from one _**Master**_ I would repay my life debt to _Potter_ by becoming his _**bonded slave**_ for that is what, I believe was the spell you, in your immeasurable stupidity was ready to inflict upon yourself and your boyfriend?! You could have not wasted your time and just let them give me the Dementor's Kiss!"

Anger boiling up in her Hermione was on her feet before she even realized it. Crossing a foot or two of space between her and the fuming wizard she slapped him, hard, on the face, and said in a tone no less deadly, "Would you shut up and listen, _**Snape**_? Yes, you are correct. The _**original**_ spell was designed to turn someone _irrevocably_ into slaves of a Liege Lord. I, however, managed to rewrite the formula so as to give Harry the access to our joined power for a year and a day.

Which is, nonetheless, not the bond I was going to propose to _**you**_." She was now speaking as clearly and as slowly as she did when with the Healer Apprentices at St. Mungo. "This particular bond, if you wish to call it so, had been an honorary link between two wizards-at-arms who saved each other during a battle or any other life-threatening situation. True, the wizard with a higher social standing would _nominally_ be the Liege to the other, yet he would _not_ be able to exert any sort of power over the "vassal", only enable his protection had the two originally belonged to the opposing parties.

Since Harry removed the Mark thus saving your miserable hide and you helped heal him thus rescuing him from great danger and you _are_ on the opposing sides in the eyes of the others, this qualifies."

She didn't notice that hurt tears were pouring down her cheeks, when suddenly Harry hugged her from behind and gently led her to the kitchen to wash up and gather herself together, leaving a shocked Snape still leaning against the wall where he was when she slapped him.

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) the idea of intuitive and non-intuitive potions brewers is taken from **teacherbev**'s _Guardians of Power_.

I will not write my impressions about the Deathly Hollows here, suffice it to say that I'm not impressed and feel like there had been no 7th book or there has been… one half of it. So it is not likely there will be any spoilers in this story.Those of you who are interested in my detailed opinion are welcome to read it in my livejournal (the link may be found in my profile, under "every Snape's dialogue in the books" – change the last words in the link – "tag / snape" to "tag / harry (lower dash) potter", without spaces; the last two entries).

I'm going on vacations for two weeks from the 3d of August, and it is not likely I will have internet access there. However, I'm taking my notebook and pens with me – I am writing the old-fashioned way, and will hopefully come back with a chapter or two.

And finally, thank you everyone who reads this story, and my special thanks to **koredik, whitehound, Casuelle, starciel, silverskies, **Maria and def for your reviews :)


	12. Who Are You?

**Disclaimer: **nothing you recognize is mine. Something you don't recognize is not mine either.

_-Text in italics in dashes (-) asterisks means Parseltongue.-_  
Please let me know if it is difficult to read and I will mark it differently.

A long **a/n** about delays and such at the end of this chapter.

* * *

_to __**def**  
__whose persistent bagering :-P made this chapter appear earlier than it might have  
__I love you, my dear :)_

**Draco's POV**

Draco Apparated alongside Ronald Weasley to the edge of the property he'd heard so much about. After a short procedure of being included into the impressive wards he overstepped the low stone hedge marking it and almost tripped over his feet at the sight that opened before is eyes. The house, and he now understood that it was called 'shack' literally was a one-storied, slope-roofed structure hardly larger than Hagrid's hut.

He hurried after Ron across the overgrown garden and they entered a tiny empty kitchen pausing at the sound of loud voices coming from the nearby room.

"…Would you shut up and listen, Snape?…"

Ron's eyes widened and he was about to barge into through the door, but Draco managed to tug at his sleeve, "Wait. And listen. Do you really want her to hex _you_ in spite of Severus?"

Hermione's teacher voice reminded him of the etiquette lessons at the Manor and many a useless tradition beaten into his head. Why was not the one she was speaking of mentioned even once?

He exchanged glances with Ron and the two of them were about to go through the door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house when through it came Harry, leading a teary-eyed and very upset Hermione. Ron immediately was at her side, giving silent support while the witch was trying to regain composure.

Harry nodded at him and went to join the couple at the table, squeezing his left shoulder as he passed. It took all Draco's self-control not to wince at the red-hot stab of pain that shot through him at the touch.

Focusing on the reason why he got to the shack the young man crossed the kitchen and paused at the door, nearly overwhelmed with the dread that rose in his gut making him want to throw up. What was it you said to the one adult in your life who never betrayed you and saved your life knowing that by doing so he was pushing you away, possibly forever?

Pulling his aristocratic mask onto his resisting face for the first time in months Draco crossed the threshold and paused once more. Snape was slumped against the far wall, his face completely hidden in his stringy black hair. He never moved when Draco entered the room and the young man had an acute feeling his teacher had not noticed his presence, which was a very disturbing thought. Every time he was forced to interact with the older wizard during the months after their flight from Hogwarts he was under the impression that Snape had extra eyes in the back of his head and extra ears on his heels. (1)

Clearing his throat, Draco took several steps forward, masking his hesitance in the practiced ease of his strut. Severus' head shot up and Draco's mask almost slipped at seeing a kaleidoscope of emotions on the usually impenetrably scowling face.

Shamed annoyance with the need to apologize to the returning Potter and Granger gave way to gratifying confusion and finally recognition. The man was staring at him as if he were a ghost of a person whom he had been certain to pass over to the afterlife.

The silence was quickly becoming deafening and Draco said the only thing that came to his mind, a "Good evening, Professor Snape," vividly remembering all the times during his Hogwarts years when he barged into Snape's office with one thing or the other.

"Mister Malfoy," acknowledged the older wizard, his face slowly assuming the too-well-known 'you're wasting my time' scowl, "to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today?"

Taking another step forward on his lead-filled legs Draco looked his former Head of the House straight in the eyes, something he avoided doing ever since the Dark Lord's order to murder Dumbledore, and mumbled in a voice he himself had difficulty understanding, "'M sorry."

Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly having not heard his words, or feigning not understanding.

Annoyed with himself and wanting nothing more than to say the words, whether he was believed or not, Draco shook his head and started again, "I am grateful for your help, Sir… And that you took the… the… _IT_ upon yourself…" mortified with the pathetic blabbering that escaped his mouth and his weak inability to speak out loud of that one murder after he had witnessed and been in part responsible of for so many others, he felt the blush start on his cheeks and continued, "And I'm sorry I was being such an jerk that whole year." He nearly bit his tongue out admitting to the rest of it, "I was… confused. And you scared the shit out of me… I was certain that you were going to the Dark Lord any day and telling him I was reluctant and weak…" he had never blushed so hard in his life… "because of how well you were always able to read me."

Still refusing to drop down his gaze Draco noted with profound relief that some of the stoniness left Snape's face and then he did something Draco had never saw the Potions Master do to anyone in the whole course of his life, for he really could not remember a time in his childhood when he wouldn't spend an occasional hour with him learning Potions or the basics of Defense. The man leaned forward placing both his hands on Draco's shoulders and gave them the slightest squeeze. Just ask quickly he let go, leaving the young Slytherin to wonder if he imagined the gesture, when a softly spoken, "Draco," gave him all the acceptance he'd hoped for.

Finally letting his mask drop he smiled slightly and went to lean against the same wall as Snape when his left arm started throbbing worse than ever. He gritted his teeth and struggled to muffle his groan, clutching the Dark Mark's site with his good hand.

Snape's brow creased in what, for him, was a concerned expression, and with an insistent, "May I?" he gently took hold of Draco's limp limb, pushing his robe off his shoulders and rolling up the blood- and gore-soaked sleeve of the shirt.

Shuddering, the young man glanced at his arm and was nearly thick at the sight of the wound from which red inflamed arrows shot right up to his shoulder. (2)

After a moment thick mist started oozing from the brand forming into an almost solid diamond-shaped head of an asp that started hissing loudly. Draco's heart almost stopped when the by now familiar sounds of Parseltongue spilled out of his Professor's mouth.

For an eternity the snake swiveled in the air, glancing at him with its unblinking stare, flicking its forked tongue at Snape, and then, after a commanding sounding hiss of the latter it rose from his arm and dissipated into thin air nearly touching… the Parselmouth?!

* * *

**Severus' POV**

Fascinated, he watched the gracious head of an asp rise from the awful wound. Bowing slightly at him, the snake started hissing, causing his hair to rise.

It was all Severus could do not to flinch back when the hissing formed into an oily voice that made his best lilt sound plain in comparison, _-Hail, s-speaker. Do you s-sink I does-s a good work des-stroying the young traitor? Mas-ster ordered I s-slithers-s to _his-s_ other arm s-srough _his-s_ heart if I don't s-sens-s mas-ster's-s presenc-ce anymore-_

_-What?! How?!-_ he gasped, not able to believe what he was hearing.

_-Mas-ster made me able to s-sens-se when he needs-s _him,- the snake's head turned contemptuously towards its bearer, _-but the s-snakeling refuses-s to come to the mas-ster. _He_ cas-sts-s winter and I hybernates-s. Mas-ster is-s angry.-_

His heart hammering, Snape tried to think of anything to say to the asp to delay its return to the deadly task it was so efficient at.

_-What did you master do to you when you failed to call _him,- he didn't dare to even glance at Draco, lest the serpent read something suspicious in his expression, _to your master?_

The snake flicked its tongue furiously and for a second Snape thought it was going to strike, but it hissed in a voice of pure venom, -_Each time I fails-s mas-ster kills-s one of my eggs-s.-_

_-Are you certain?-_ he queried, his mind racing a mile a minute.

_-Of course I is-s, -_the snake rised even higher, _-mas-ster shows-s me.-_

_-But if your master is gone, he cannot hurt your eggs anymore,-_ Snape continued, trying to soothe the serpent.

It flicked its tongue again and seemed to deflate slightly.

_-Mas-ster?_- the asp asked in confusion, flicking its tongue some more. _-Mas-ster, I s-smells-s you, why can't I s-sens-se you?-_

Did his Dark Mark's residue 'smell' like Voldemort to the snake? Why did it not notice the semblance earlier? And above all, how could and enchanted tattoo havelaid eggs?!

These and tens of other questions swirled in Snape's mind before being replaced with the only urgent one, should he, or should he not use the Mark's error to his advantage.

Deciding to test the grounds first, he hissed meaningly, _-What was said to you would happen to your eggs if you didn't destroy _him_ when you could no more _sense_ your master?-_

The implied menace seemed to resolve the Mark's hesitation. It cowered in front of the wizard in much the same boneless way Death Eaters did with incensed Voldermort and begged haltingly, _-Forgive me mas-ster. I returns-s to the s-sneaky traitor and s-summons-s _him_ to your presenc-ce at onc-ce. Please s-spare my eggs-s.-_

Putting everything on one carte Snape spoke up, trying and not knowing how to imitate Voldemort as much as possible, dragging to the forefront of his mind the numerous occasions the Dark wizard hissed with Nagini in his presence.

_-Mas-ster is pleased with the punishment you already delivered to the little traitor._- Steeling himself against a sudden spike of fear he extended his left hand to the now slightly blurry snake's head. -_Come to master. He will take you to your eggs. Your service is over.-_

The asp started rising higher and higher from Draco's arm and suddenly dissipated, almost touching the sleeve of his robe. With a rustle of air in which Severus thought he heard a dying whisper, _-Free.- _it was now gone.

His knees would have given out with the enormous relief he felt and a sudden wave of fatigue, had the young man whose left arm he was still holding with his right not rushed forward and steadied him, simultaneously yelling for Granger to come into the room at once.

"I am perfectly alright, Draco," he said in annoyance, forcing himself to straighten out… and suddenly slid down the wall to the floor as the shock of this last bizarre turn of events caught up with him.

* * *

**A/n:**

(1) I felt this way once, when showing Moscow underground to a couple of friends who didn't speak Russian NOR English, and it would have been horrible had they gotten lost. It's _very _tiring, and I may only commiserate with those who are forced to _live_ this way.  
(2) Exactly like a dirty wound when a blood poisoning starts.

**_Note:_**  
I will say now what I intended to say in the last chapter, for long author's notes are tiresome and look bad after or before the text of the story, and not return to it.

I don't intend to abandon the story, however much real life my be getting in the way. In the unlikely event of it happening however, a note with the short overview of events will definitely appear as a last chapter of sorts.  
This particular chapter however was delayed as much by Draco Malfoy, who as you know, ran off the the shack. I didn't know he was there nor did I know who and what he was. So I had to get to know, and you see with Slytherins... its a very difficult thing to do... ;)

As an adult, I see it beneath me to beg for reviews, yet as an author – as it being natural for me to crave them :) Thus I am expressing my profound gratitude to all those who have taken time to drop me a line, and those who have added the story to their alerts and favorites lists.

The story doesn't have a beta (yet? I'm still looking for one), so what mistakes appear are completely my fault.

Until next time.

_**Kehlen.**_


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